Secret Admirer
by Lady K-Oss
Summary: When Mello is feeling down, Matt tries to cheer him up by writing him emails from a "secret admirer." To his surprise, Mello writes back... High School AU, MattXMello
1. Chapter One: Him?

**Author's Notes: **So, I decided to change tacks a bit here. My other story wasn't getting much love (maybe just because really, who wants to see Matt die over and over again? Can't blame anyone there), so I'm gonna try to alternate updates between that one and this one, a much lighter, fluffier tale in which Matt makes some poor choices. Special shout-out, though, to CrazeeChibi, Puppies77777, and iamhidekiryuga, the three people who are now following my other fic—if you're reading this, you guys rock! :3 And yes, "Three Lives Left" will be finished. In fact, it already is, I just need to post the chapters but I like keeping to an update schedule. Cheers for now!

As a side note, if anyone has any suggestions on a better name for this story, please let me know. I'm not too happy with the current one, but the only other thing I could think of was "You've Got Mail (Jeevas)" and if I chose that one I'd be very, very ashamed of myself.

**Disclaimer: **I am the proud owner of a sick, sick mind and a laptop. I am not the owner of Death Note.

**Secret Admirer**

**Chapter One: Him?**

"I refuse to believe it!" the familiar blond fumed as he slammed open the door to Matt's room. "I mean, why would she… _how_ could she… ugh, I just can't wrap my mind around it! Is everyone at that school on drugs or something?"

Matt, for his part, barely flinched at the barrage of randomness and rage being directed his way. He stayed slouched cross-legged on the bed, back against the wall of his bedroom, his fingers continuing to fly over the buttons of his 3DS without faltering. He was used to Mello's dramatic entrances, and just as used to his nonsensical ramblings, if not more so. But because Mello was his best friend (and because he knew where Matt slept), he'd at least acknowledge his rant. He was a good friend like that.

"Who did what to whom? And what kind of drugs?" Matt asked, his tone bored up until that last part. Hey, if it was anything good, then he _definitely_ wanted in. Might make classes a bit more tolerable, at least.

Since his eyes didn't leave the screen of his console, he couldn't _see_ the glare leveled in his direction, but he could tell it was there by the way the side of his face started to smolder.

"This is _serious_, Matty," Mello informed him. "Didn't you hear about what happened at school today? With _Near_?"

Ah, and there it was. If anyone could get Mello into this much of a tizzy, it would be Near. The sheer contempt in his voice just saying the name was enough to send lesser men cowering.

Fortunately, Matt was no lesser man. Or at least, he was immune to this particular brand of poison by now.

"Well, seeing as I'm not an incorrigible gossip, that'd be a 'no,'" Matt told him, smirking. He got a smack upside the head for that one as Mello settled next to him on the bed, but it was worth it.

"No, but you _are_ an incorrigible shut-in," Mello pointed out, rolling his eyes. "You really do need to get a life, Matty. And extra lives in video games don't count," he added quickly, cutting off the gamer's retort. Mello really knew him too well.

Matt shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, that's what I have you for, isn't it? To tell me what's going on and let me know if it's relevant? So spill."

Mello kept glaring for another moment as he unwrapped a chocolate bar—the first of many that would perish this afternoon, if his mood was anything to go by.

"It's Linda," he said, taking a vicious bit out of the bar. "She confessed her love today. To _Near_."

Matt blinked behind amber-tinted goggles. "Er… so?" he asked, just slightly bewildered. "What, were you interested in her yourself, Mels?"

"God no!" the blond exclaimed, shuddering a little at the thought and making Matt roll his eyes. "It's just… _him_? Really? Why on earth would someone be in love with Near, of all people?"

The redhead gave a little snort of repressed laughter. Of course that's all it was. Mello was _jealous_. He would almost certainly kill Matt if he ever dared to phrase it that way out loud, but still. There it was.

"You'd be surprised, Mello," he drawled, saving his game so that he could give his friend the attention he demanded. "There are a few girls at school who have a thing for Near. They think he's cute. Like a puppy."

The look that Mello was giving him was priceless—mouth open, eyes wide, and face flushed, with just the slightest twitch right above his cheek. Pure shock warring with righteous fury. Beautiful.

"And how exactly do _you_ know that?" he demanded.

Matt shrugged. "He told me," he said simply.

"When the hell were you talking to him?"

"At lunch one day. You were in the library," Matt explained. Truthfully, he and Near spent many lunches together—they were both antisocial enough that banding together was to their benefit, as it deterred others from bothering them in a way that sitting alone with a game or a puzzle would not. Some days they would chat briefly, but most days they would just sit together in silence, working at their respective tasks. It was actually a rather pleasant arrangement. Not that he'd ever tell Mello that. He valued his limbs, after all.

The blond scowled, crumpling up the wrapper of Chocolate Bar #1 before ripping into #2. "I don't know why you'd bother hanging out with such a weirdo"—oh hey Pot, meet Kettle!—"but at least you're not slipping him love notes between classes or anything. And what kind of fucked up girl wants to date a puppy, anyway?"

"I, uh… don't think that's exactly what they meant by that," Matt said, chuckling awkwardly. "Anyway, why's this got you so worked up, Mels? Just because you hate the guy doesn't mean the entire world has to, you know."

Mello glowered at him, but there was something _off_ about the look. Lacking. It took Matt a moment to realize that it was because Mello was also blushing and—just barely—_pouting_ at the same time. All at once, something clicked in his mind, like a piece of one of Near's puzzles falling into place.

"Mello," he started, trying and failing to suppress a grin of pure malevolence, "no one's ever asked you out before, have they?"

The blond's chin came up, proud and defiant and way too defensive, and Matt knew he had hit the nail on the head. "So?" Mello asked haughtily, trying not to look uncomfortable. "That's not the _point_, Matty. The point is that—"

"My Mello wants someone to _looove_ him!" Matt sang out, throwing his arms around his friend's shoulders and swaying him back and forth slightly. "Mello's all grown-up now, and he wants someone to _looove_ him and _hooold_ him and _fuuu_—"

An elbow to the ribcage made him drop his grip, but he continued to giggle to himself, even under Mello's icy glare.

"It's not like you can talk, Mr. Voted Most Likely to Marry a Dating Sim," the blond shot back. Matt smirked at him, not saying anything. After a moment, Mello's eyes widened as realization dawned. "No. You? _Really_?"

Matt cackled with sadistic glee. He stopped when Mello chucked a pillow at him with deadly accuracy, but the shit-eating grin remained.

"Who and when, Jeevas?" Mello growled.

"Rachael, last week," Matt told him. "And Wendy, last semester. And Michelle, right before summer break last year."

The blond gaped at him. "How the hell did I never hear about this?" he demanded, turning bright red with frustration.

"Well, I don't go around telling people my business, and no girl wants to advertise it when she gets shot down," Matt explained. He didn't say that Near had known, because Near didn't gossip either and was therefore a safe outlet. Hell, if Linda hadn't been tactless enough to blurt it out in the hallway, it was likely that no one would have ever known about her crush. Poor girl.

Mello gave him an almost hurt look, and Matt felt just a little bit guilty for keeping this from him. That lasted all of the five seconds it took for Mello to turn away, mumbling "I don't know what those idiots would see in someone like _you_" under his breath.

Matt felt a pang of indignation at those words. Laid-back though he may be, his friend's jibe still stung a bit. Plus, the blond was acting bratty as hell.

"Is it really so hard to figure out?" the gamer asked, eyebrow raised and arms crossed defensively over his chest.

Mello bristled a little, then deflated, sighing. "Sorry, Matty," he said sullenly. "I forget sometimes that you are a sexy beast."

"Damn straight. Don't let it happen again."

The blond nodded, chewing sulkily at the chocolate bar in his hand. Matt sighed. Was there anything more pitiful than a repentant Mello?

Scooting closer, the redhead put an arm around his friend's shoulders. Mello tensed. Matt ignored it. "You know," he whispered conspiratorially, leaning in close as if anyone else might be able to overhear them, "I think the only reason you haven't gotten a confession or two of your own is because people are intimidated by you."

Mello glowered, trying to shrug him off. "Don't you fucking patronize me, Matt," he said warningly.

"I'm not!" the redhead insisted. "Seriously, man, I still know some people who practically piss themselves when they see you waiting for me after class, ever since that one time with Tristan and the fire hose."

"He shouldn't have been making fun of your goggles," Mello muttered, looking down with a dark expression. "And he _really_ shouldn't have tried to struggle like that."

"See?" Matt asked, grinning. "You're fucking terrifying! Anyone who thinks you're hot—and you are—is probably too chicken-shit to face the potential Wrath of Mello. Plus, they'd probably think you're out of their league, anyway," he added as an afterthought, stroking the blond's ego. Hey, no one could say he wasn't a kick-ass friend.

Mello, predictably, preened at that. "You're right, Matty," he said, looking just a tad too pleased. "I mean, if a freak like Near and a nerd like you are turning down offers, what girl could possibly think she'd have a shot with me?"

"There's the arrogant psychopath that I know and tolerate!" Matt cheered, picking up his 3DS again and getting ready to put this stupidity behind him. "So, you up for pizza, or are you just gonna work slowly towards diabetes tonight?"

Mello rolled his eyes, finishing off the bar of chocolate he'd been working on. "Yeah, like pizza is _so_ much better for you."

"So, meat lover's with extra bacon?"

"Damn straight."

* * *

The weekend passed with relative normalcy—Mello was moody, but then, when was he not? Nothing too bizarre happened, and Matt had no reason to think that the issue wasn't resolved.

Until Monday rolled around.

Now, Matt may not have been the most socially intelligent person in the world, but if there was one person he knew, inside and out, it was Mello. And Mello was… different.

The fire in him, that spark of defiance or arrogance or just sheer rage that was always waiting to ignite, was replaced by a distracted surliness. He didn't pick a single fight all week, which Matt would have been thankful for (somehow he always ended up in trouble alongside the blond) except for the fact that it was so damn _weird_. And nowhere was the change more evident than in his interactions with Near. Whereas normally the blond would glare or hurl insults or make challenges to the smaller boy, now he would just give him an odd look and walk away. Hell, even Near himself was concerned—he asked Matt over lunch one day if Mello was sick.

Matt didn't know how to answer. All he knew was that his friend was acting strangely, and that it had all started with a stupid high school love confession.

Friday night, Mello came over again, as per usual, to hang out and eat junk food, and things were almost, _almost_ the same. But now that Matt knew to look for it, he saw the shadow hanging over his friend, felt that lingering feeling of wrongness.

And he knew that he had to do something about it.

So it was that as soon as Mello had left for the night, Matt sat down at his computer, fired it up, and made himself a new email account. Clicking on the "Compose" icon and typing Mello's email address into the "To" line, he stared at the blank message box on his screen.

And then, before he could think about it too hard and second-guess himself, he began to type.

**End Chapter One**

**Author's End Notes:** Hope you enjoyed! I'm not gonna lie, I'm taking a bit of a risk by posting this one—normally I don't post until I have the story mostly written or at least mostly planned out, and with this one, I'm not really sure where I'm going. I have the next two chapters ready to go, and a vague idea of what will happen for the next three or four after that, but then… Well, we'll see. Drop a review, let me know what you think, and let me know if you have any suggestions, and I guess I'll go from there! Later!


	2. Chapter Two: Mail

**Author's Note: **Oh snap, people seem to be liking this one… Huzzah! :D Although I do have to warn you all, I'm switching the genres from Romance/Humor to Romance/Drama due to some shit that will apparently be going down later… I've written up to chapter eight so far, and the story kind of took a turn I wasn't expecting when I first started. I'm still trying to keep up the lolz, though.

Also, just a heads-up… This chapter is the first time I've written from Mello's perspective. Now, Matt is pretty much my spirit animal, so he's pretty easy for me to write; I'm hoping Mello comes off as decently in-character, too. If he's not, let me know and I'll _try_ to adjust going forwards. But it may turn out that I just suck at Mello.

**Disclaimer: **Two of the main male characters of Death Note spent a goodly amount of time literally handcuffed to one another, and they never got down. Do you really think that that would have happened if I owned this shit?

**Secret Admirer**

**Chapter Two: Mail**

Mello stared at his computer screen, frowning in consternation. This had to be a joke, right? Or a mistake? Maybe a hallucination?

Still not quite believing his eyes, he scrolled back up to the top of the page and started rereading the message.

_Dear Mello,_

_I figure that there is no way for me to say this without sounding like a total creeper, but here goes: I've noticed you at school, and I think you're amazing. Seriously, there's something about you, an energy, I guess, that no one else I've ever met has. Your wit, your passion, your general don't-fuck-with-me attitude… I dunno, I just find everything about you fascinating and wonderful… _

_And of course, I find you very, _very_ hot. _

_I'm not expecting anything to come of this, I swear. I've seen enough to know that you take your studies very seriously, and I'd never want to stand in the way of that—in no small part because I value my limbs, thank you very much. But I just wanted to make sure you knew. Someone as awesome as you are deserves to know that that awesomeness has been noticed._

_So, just keep being your amazing self, and know that whenever you do the things you do, you're making someone's day._

_-Your Secret Admirer_

That was it. No name, no request for a date or a quickie, not even a clue as to whom it could be from, beyond that it was someone at Mello's school. Even the username was decidedly unhelpful—"Mail4U"—and probably chosen specifically to give as little away as possible. After all, why else would someone choose a name that generic?

Mello chewed at his lower lip, staring at the screen. Okay, so maybe this was legit, and not just some prank. It seemed sincere enough, right? Not that he really had a point of reference, of course, but he imagined that a prank would have been more flowery, spouting declarations of love eternal and all manner of similar bullshit. This person had done none of that, just told him, in simple terms, that they liked him and found him amazing.

"Amazing." Had anyone ever called him that before? Maybe some teachers, back before Near had shown up, but never a peer. They usually chose different adjectives, most of them well-earned and not fit for polite company.

He wondered what Matt would think of all this.

As the thought of his best friend flitted across his mind, Mello's mood darkened slightly. Last Friday's revelations had hit him a bit harder than he'd initially thought. It was easy enough, when they were alone together, to pretend that nothing had changed, but once they were back in school… Suddenly, everyone looked like a potential rival to Mello. Everyone who talked to Matt, everyone who smiled at him, or joked with him or asked him for tips on beating some boss or another, every damn one of them could be dangerous, because somehow, they had started to figure out what Mello had always known: that his Matty was a catch.

And sooner or later, one of them would take him from Mello.

Growling under his breath, Mello ripped into a chocolate bar, taking a bite and savoring the feel of it melting in his mouth, calming him just enough to clear his head a little. He didn't know when, exactly, he'd fallen for his best friend—all he knew was that one day, Matt had smiled at him, and his goggles were off for a change, and the smile was so bright and his eyes were so green and that light dusting of freckles across his nose was so perfectly adorable that it was all Mello could do not to kiss him, right then and there. And that was when he had realized that he was doomed.

Because Matt was his best friend.

Because Matt liked girls.

And because Mello was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him.

And no matter how much that childish part of Mello's mind kicked and screamed that Matt had been _his_ first, dammit, before puberty had done such wonders on him, back when the rest of the world knew him only as "that weird kid with the goggles"… logically, he knew that this situation would not play out in his favor. He did not have "dibs" on Matt. Someday, a girl would come along, and Matt wouldn't say "no," and Mello's heart would break.

But there was nothing he could do about that, was there?

Mello sighed, turning his attention back to the immediate problem on his computer screen. Somehow, he knew that showing Matt and listening to him congratulate Mello and urge him to "Hit that!" was not going to make him feel better.

So, what would, then?

The answer, when he thought about it, was obvious. He needed to solve this mystery—find out if it was a joke, or someone legitimately interested in him. If it was the former, he'd have to also find out who it was so that he could kick his or her ass; if the latter… Well, he would have to see what would happen. After all, he was planning to become a detective like his hero and mentor, L Lawliet, wasn't he? If he couldn't solve the Case of the Poorly-Timed Love Letter, then what kind of a detective would he be? And to solve that case, he would need to engage his suspect, get him to talk, like L did when he went undercover. That meant responding to the message.

And if there was some part of him that was secretly hoping for something more to come of this, at least enough to distract him from the inevitable loss of his best friend, who would know?

Mello pulled his laptop closer, his fingers hesitating over the keyboard for just a moment, before gritting his teeth in determination and beginning to type.

_Dear "Mail4U,"_

_(That's a stupid name, by the way—I'm going to call you "Mail" for short. Which is also a stupid name, but fuck it, I'm just working with what you're giving me here.)_

_Thanks for the message. I am, indeed, aware of how awesome I am, but it's always refreshing to meet someone else who recognizes it. Not nearly enough do, and fewer still will openly acknowledge it._

_But then, you're not _openly_ acknowledging it, are you? I must confess, it's very frustrating to have someone tell me what an indescribable sex god I am (I'm paraphrasing, of course) and not bother to do it in a public forum, where all of my naysayers can hear and take note. That sort of cowardly behavior is decidedly unsexy, you know._

_That being said, I have to admit, I'm curious as to what kind of a person has been watching me so closely without me noticing. I also find myself wondering why you're hiding under the cloak of anonymity. Are you someone I know? Are you horribly disfigured, or incredibly stupid? (The former I may be able to deal with; not so much the latter.) I'd love to determine whether or not you're worth my time, but I'm afraid you just haven't given me enough to go on quite yet. Tell me more about yourself, and we'll see what happens._

_Cheers,_

_-Mello_

The blond grinned in satisfaction as he finished, looking over his work. Perhaps he had added a touch too much arrogance—but hey, if all this person knew about him was what he showed to most of the morons at school, they'd be expecting as much. Plus, the not-so-subtle digs that he'd peppered the message with should be enough to incite anyone with an ounce of pride into dishing up some information. Hopefully enough to figure out their identity, over time. Well-pleased with himself, Mello hit "Send," taking a moment to revel in his own genius.

Before that moment was up, though, there was a knock at the door to his room. Suddenly self-conscious, he slammed his laptop shut, hiding the evidence and blushing furiously.

"I'll be out in a minute, Mom!" he yelled at the closed door, standing up and digging through his drawers for some decent clothes. He was still in his sleepwear, boxers and a loose T-shirt. He'd spent most of his morning studying, and then gotten caught up with the email issue and forgotten to get dressed.

"Okay, honey!" came Matt's voice, affecting a falsetto and a very fake Russian accent. Mello rolled his eyes, his panic fading. Of course.

Shrugging on a shirt and jeans, he opened the door to let his friend in. The redhead grinned as he bounced into the room, flopping unceremoniously onto the bed.

"What were you doing?" he asked, tapping at the closed laptop. "Watching porn? Anything good?"

Mello wrinkled his nose in distaste. "We're not all as desperate and depraved as you are, Matt," he said, plucking the computer off of the bed and placing it safely on his desk.

"That's a 'yes' if I ever heard one," Matt snickered.

"What are you doing here, Jeevas?"

"The game I ordered just came in at the mall," Matt announced cheerfully.

"And I repeat, 'What are you doing _here_?'"

"Thought you might want to come with," Matt said, still smiling in that obnoxiously endearing way. Mello translated in his head: 'I didn't want to go out into a public place alone, because I am a socially awkward shut-in who is incapable of normal interaction.' "You could get some books, or chocolate, or jeans that are two sizes too small. You know, Mello-stuff."

Mello twitched a little at that. "That's what constitutes 'Mello stuff'?"

"Uh huh!" Matt chirped, as if it were obvious. "Also, most things that _shouldn't_ be dangerous, but somehow become dangerous in your hands. Like cheese graters."

"Cheese graters," Mello repeated, not quite questioning, one eyebrow quirked.

"Yep," Matt said, nodding sagely.

Mello sighed. "I've got a project to work on, Matt," he said, annoyed.

"I know," Matt agreed. "Your super-secret project that I'm not allowed to know anything about. It'll still be here for you when we get back. Not like you were going to finish today anyway, right?"

Mello chewed on his lower lip, considering. Truthfully, he wasn't really feeling up to doing too much work today… and it _was_ Saturday, after all—that magical day that his entire age group seemed to have decided was for goofing off and being lazy… Perhaps…

"C'mon, Mello," Matt wheedled, as if sensing his weakness. "I'll get you a present at the Godiva store."

If anyone ever accused Mello of being this easily bribed, he could deny it to his last breath. But he and Matt both knew the truth.

"Well, it is beneficial to give the mind a break every now and then," the blond mused. "Even genius minds like mine."

The smile that broke over Matt's face at those words was like pure light, and Mello's heart constricted at the reminder of why he had first fallen for this boy, all those years ago. There was no time to dwell on it, though, as the redhead jumped up from the bed, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the door.

"Awesome!" he exclaimed, happy and triumphant, not bothering to let go of the blond's hand (or perhaps just afraid he'd change his mind). "And then we can go over to my place to give that game a test run! I'll even promise not to embarrass you too badly."

Mello couldn't help but smile indulgently at his friend's enthusiasm as he was dragged in his wake, barely managing to grab a sweatshirt and winter jacket on the way. He knew how this story would play out. Matt would talk him into coming over, then into staying for a very unhealthy dinner, then into staying up late watching bad movies. He'd done it all before. No one could talk Mello into coming out of his shell like Matt could.

And Mello wondered absently how long he'd still be able to enjoy that undivided attention and devotion.

* * *

Mello finally stumbled back into his bedroom at about two in the morning, which was pretty much when he had predicted he'd be freed. His stomach ached a little from the vast quantities of junk-food he'd subjected it to, and his eyes burned from staring at the TV for hours. Next time, he was stealing Matt's goggles, vanity be damned. The redheaded freak of nature could go for hours without looking away from the screen, and it never seemed to bother him. Mello wasn't even sure he blinked.

Still, he had to admit (though not out loud, of course) that it had been fun. Especially when he had accidentally button-mashed that special attack in Super Smash Bros. and blown Matt's Princess Peach out of the sky. Stupid bitch didn't know what happened. And neither did the princess.

Chuckling to himself, Mello kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed, curling fully-clothed into his blankets and preparing to give in to sweet unconsciousness.

…Only to remember that he still hadn't worked on his project at all today. Fuck.

Groaning, the blond stretched to reach his laptop—because actually getting up was for losers—and drag it onto the bed with him. He figured he didn't have to do too much, just enough to convince himself that he wasn't completely slacking off, so he pounded out a thousand words or so. That was a respectable amount, right? Reading it over, he didn't even think he had done too badly. Granted, he reserved the right to change that decision once the piece had undergone the harsh inspection of a fully-conscious mind, but for now…

Mello hit "Save" and started to close the laptop, then hesitated. Pulling up his email account, he skimmed his unread messages. Mostly advertisements. A few random updates from various social media sites.

Nothing from Mail4U.

Must have been some kind of a fucked up joke, then—that asshole had had hours to respond, and Mello was pretty sure that if someone were desperate enough to send an anonymous email to a total stranger, they'd be desperate to respond when said stranger showed some interest. Or maybe whoever had sent the message was just too stupid to know how to reply when a hot guy asked for answers. Or maybe he was just smart enough to know how stupid he was, and that Mello wasn't into stupid people. Scowling, Mello slammed the laptop shut and rolled himself back into what Matt would call the "Blanket Burrito."

And as he fell asleep, he wondered why he felt so disappointed.

**End Chapter Two**

**Author's End Note:** So, as you can tell, I've decided to use Matt's real name in a punny sense after all… ^^; Sorry about that… But it does kinda fit, doesn't it? (If one ignores the fact that it's supposed to be pronounced "Mile," anyway...) And for anyone who's wondering, I'm gonna be mentioning the name Mihael later, too; in this world, Mello's just a nickname.

I hope the emails came out okay here… Honestly, I just don't see either of them as being too mushy-romantic, so writing Matt's message was tricky. It had to be flattering, because that's what he was going for, but not too sappy or emotional. I dunno, I did what I could. They get better later. I think.

A big THANK YOU to all those who read and reviewed last time—keep that shit up! Defeat Cigarettes, thanks again for the follows/faves, and thank you to Sarafina Filth for the follow, as well… And for Carottal, thank you for the very detailed review! I'm glad you enjoyed it… I like writing Matt as nonchalant, too, but I also kind of love him just being a general nerdy goofball. :3 Matt and Near will play together a bit more in the future, too, if all goes as I'm planning… Still torn over the title, though. I like your suggestion about consequences, but so far I haven't been able to think of anything that feels just right… Oh well. Maybe it'll come to me in a dream or something.

See you next time!


	3. Chapter Three: Sunday

**Author's Note: **Okay, so anyone who is also reading my other story, Three Lives Left, may have noticed that I mentioned I would be at Megacon last weekend and would probably be updating this story late as a result. I did not intend for it to be a whole week late. My apologies, guys—apparently, I should not be allowed to take care of myself, because what I thought was just a cold turned into a raging case of bronchitis because I didn't bother to go to the doctor when I started, you know, not sleeping or eating or breathing. I am a horrible excuse for an adult. I am now almost fully recovered, but I'm still exhausted and having trouble with the whole writing/editing thing. (Though I am several chapters ahead of whatever I'm posting—it's good to have a buffer. Especially after the _third fucking time_ I rewrote Chapter Nine.)

Anyway, TL;DR-I'll try not to suck so hard in the future. I'm not thrilled with this chapter, and it's regrettably short, but I hope you enjoy. Next one will be longer. Also more awkward. Huzzah.

**Disclaimer: **I wrote stuff! But I still don't own Death Note or any of its bitchin' characters.

**Chapter Three: Sunday**

Ah, Sunday. Laziest of days. How Matt had waited for you.

The redhead stretched out the kinks in his back—the result of many an hour hunched over a computer or a game controller—and yawned loudly to announce his consciousness to the world. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was already early afternoon. The demon bitch that was the weekend morning had been successfully slept through. As god intended.

First things first, he needed to get his noms on. Preferably, he thought as his stomach protested fiercely, something with actual nutritional value. Last night's escapades had not been easy on him, but he would never turn down a challenge, and that pile of candy, chips, and Hostess-made food-adjacent products had definitely been challenging him. He liked to think he won, too. No matter what his stomach said to the contrary.

Peeking out into the hallway, he listened for any of the telltale sounds of his father being home—snoring, cursing, bottles clinking, whatever. There were none, so he headed down to the kitchen and started raiding the cabinets. Slim pickings, as per usual, but he managed to scrounge up a bowl of cereal (the least sugary option he could find) and some milk that hadn't quite turned yet, so he figured that was a victory. Taking his prize back to his room, he settled down at his desk, fired up his computer, and watched his three monitors blink to life.

He had solid plans to immerse himself in the sweet void of online gaming, but he decided to check his email first, as he hadn't bothered to do so at all on Saturday. As soon as he clicked on the icon, he realized that he had accidentally left himself logged into the phony account he had made a few nights prior… and then, before he could log out, he realized that he had a message. A response.

From Mello.

Staring at the subject line in bewilderment, Matt could practically hear the gears in his head whirring pathetically as he tried to comprehend what this meant. He'd known that Mello had read the message—the guy was one of those who always kept his inbox clean, unlike Matt who would oftentimes let things pile up—and he liked to think that the relative normalcy of their outing yesterday had been a direct result of his interference. But he honestly hadn't expected Mello to respond. He was so far above everyone else at school, at least in the wonderful world that was his own mind, that Matt had simply assumed he would deem this message, from someone choosing anonymity rather than having the balls to 'fess up in person, beneath his notice. That he would take the praise and be done with it.

Usually, Matt's assumptions regarding Mello were correct. He had known the blond long enough that his accuracy on all things Mello-related was unparalleled.

Not this time, apparently.

"Fuck," Matt muttered aloud, wondering how to proceed. He never would have sent the message if he had known Mello would actually _do_ something about it. "Fucking brilliant, Matt."

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. He would need to see what his apparently unpredictable friend had written before he could decide whether or not a total freak-out was necessary. After all, it could have been a straight-up rejection. That would be the most logical, most _Mello_ response, right?

Taking a deep breath, Matt clicked on the message, opening it.

Wrong again.

The words, while not exactly encouraging, were not a complete refusal, either. And for Mello, that meant interest.

Balls.

Matt's head thumped down against the desk. "What the hell did I just do?" he asked himself in frustration. "What the hell do I do _now_?"

The steady hum of his computer was his only answer.

Sighing, Matt forced himself back into an upright position, thinking hard. He hadn't meant for this to go beyond one message, but if Mello was really feeling so down about himself that he would engage a complete stranger just for the ego boost (and Matt assumed that that was all it was, though his track record was apparently shit today), then it was his responsibility as his best friend to keep up the charade. Just for a while. Just to cheer him up. After all, he cared about his friend's happiness—probably more than was healthy—and he would _not_ be responsible for crushing him, god dammit.

And hell, he realized he already knew the best way to derail the whole situation without hurting the blond.

Smiling with grim determination, Matt opened up a new message and started to type.

_Dear Mello,_

_ Has anyone ever told you what a charmer you are? I mean, really, questioning my looks, my intelligence, _and_ my courage all in the same message? Be still my beating heart. If you were expecting me to be shamed into giving my identity away, I'm afraid that you're going to be sorely disappointed here._

_ To answer those questions, though: I am sex on legs, I am absolutely brilliant, and I don't always save my game before a boss battle, so obviously, I am one brave mofo. (At least one of these may be an exaggeration, by the way.) _

_ In all seriousness, though, I was not expecting you to write back, which is a big part of why I went with anonymity when I contacted you. I am neither hideous nor a moron, but I figured you'd be too busy to be interested, and no one likes getting shot down in public when they can help it. The other reason I decided to stay anonymous–and I hope that this doesn't freak you out—is that I'm a guy. I didn't want you to think that I was trying to "convert" you or any bull like that, because I'm not. I just wanted you to know how great you are, without making you uncomfortable by having another dude mack on you and probably getting my ass kicked in the process._

_ So, sorry, dude—while I'd love to proclaim your eternal sexiness to the gods above, as I as said before, I am not an idiot. I know I don't have a chance, and I'm not about to risk the backlash for something that'll never happen anyway._

_I figure I won't hear back from you after this one, and I know that this is probably the weirdest thing you've ever read, so I totally will not blame you. But I still think you're awesome, and even though I'm just some creeper on the Internet, I hope that means something to you. _

_Later,_

_-"Mail" _

Reading over his message, Matt nodded to himself. That should shut this down pretty painlessly—and it wasn't even a lie, for the most part. He really did think Mello was amazing, and he really was a guy, so it all made perfect sense. He remembered Mello saying once that nothing makes a lie more believable than seasoning it with a bit of the truth—something he'd learned from that weirdo detective—and he hoped that the blond wasn't wrong.

Matt hit "Send" before he could overthink it too much, then sat back in his chair. Somehow, he already felt exhausted. He didn't even feel like playing his games anymore.

He wondered what Mello was doing.

Pushing that thought out of his mind, Matt got up just long enough to collapse back onto his bed with a groan. It was Sunday, so hanging with his best friend was out. Just as Sundays were sacred to Matt for reasons related to gaming, napping, and gaming some more, for Mello, Sundays were a day for studying, visiting freaky detectives, and pretty much nothing else. It had been that way for as long as Matt could remember, and he couldn't imagine him changing that now.

Though he hadn't exactly been predicting Mello's reactions right today.

And if Mello really _was_ interested in a relationship, he would probably have to learn to be more willing to give up his precious study-time. Assuming he found someone non-male and, of course, _real_ who was interested. But really, that was only a matter of time.

Matt wondered absently why he felt so bitter about that.

A crash came from outside his room, down the hall, and Matt winced. Sounded like his dad was home. Better go and check up on him before he hurt himself. Sighing, he stood up and headed for the door, steeling himself for the worst.

What had happened to his beautiful Sunday?

**End Chapter Three **

**Author's End Note:** Uh… Yeah. I'm introducing plot points here, I guess. I may have mentioned before that this thing has taken some interesting turns that I wasn't originally expecting. Yes, I'm introducing the cliché "drunk father" thing, but there's a reason for it. Just hang with me, guys. It's gonna be a weird ride.


	4. Chapter Four: Red

**Author's Note: **Yayyy, I'm mostly on time this week! :D Thanks for sticking with me this far, guys. Thank you to everyone who followed/faved this shit—that number is steadily growing, which makes my little nerd-heart happy. Also, thank you to Defeat Cigarettes (because I am a horrible person and forgot to thank you last time) and GlitterDrop for the reviews that made me squee with joy when I read them. At least one of those reviews came through while I was at work, and my coworkers were all very confused. True story. Also, GlitterDrop, I'm glad you like my writing style! I have a tendency to explain minutia, so I have to work very hard to curb that impulse and keep everything, y'know, readable… glad it seems to be working… XD

And High on the Rainbow—I am hoping to keep this relatively light-hearted. I'm not a big fan of writing angst, either… however, there _will_ be drama and character conflict and all that jazz. Sometimes angst will accompany it (mostly in chapter seven). Most of the time, though, it shouldn't—honestly, I don't see either Matt or Mello as being too terribly angst-prone. Matt is too laid-back, and Mello would just punch things until he felt better. So, I'll try to stick to that formula for the most part.

Also, Mello's less wrathful in this chapter. Probably because L's there. Hope that's cool with everyone—I always pictured him as being on best behavior with L, and maybe slightly awkward, for some reason... Like, "Oh no, I'm not a raging psychopath, you should _totally_ name me your successor! And your best friend!" I just hope it doesn't come off as too out-of-character. ^^; Well, let me know what you think and I can adjust going forward. Later!

**Disclaimer:** Too lazy to try to be witty—I don't own Death Note.

**Chapter Four: Red**

Mello sat up straight in the office chair, trying very hard not to look nervous. Not that he would ever be able to succeed in hiding it, of course. L was a master detective, well-versed in all aspects of body language and easily able to spot the tell-tales of a lie or withheld information… Besides which, Mello was not particularly good at dissembling on his best days. Too much emotion, too hard to hold it in. He normally prided himself on that, because his emotions tended to run somewhere along the psychotic rage spectrum, and broadcasting them created a veritable barrier of don't-fuck-with-me energy around him at all times and kept the fucktards and assholes at bay.

When he was feeling anxious or scared or some other obnoxious emotion like that, though, he hated how hard he had to try to hide it. Especially when he was around L.

And today, in particular, he could feel his nerves constantly bubbling just below the surface, just waiting to rear their ugly heads. He wasn't sure if it was because of the lack of sleep, or for… other reasons… but he didn't like it. Near never had trouble holding back his emotions. Then again, Near may be a robot, so perhaps he wasn't the best point of comparison.

God, why couldn't L just read _faster_?

The wide black eyes continued scanning the pages that L was currently hunched over, and Mello forced himself to be patient. He was very fortunate that L had taken it upon himself to mentor him. The man was famous, both as a private detective and as a writer of mystery and crime novels, and infamous for his affinity for solitude (and sweets). Mello had grown up idolizing the man (or more accurately, his character in hisbook series), and he had read all of his books until the spines were practically worn through. The fact that L had taken an interest in him was a God-damned miracle and he was not about to screw it up.

Hence the too-straight posture and rampant internal monologue.

It was hard trying to emulate someone who was so damn _calm _all the time, though. Especially when that person made him so damn nervous. After a few months of this, he still hadn't gotten over his case of hero-worship. Matt still hadn't stopped mocking him for it, either. He was kind of a dick like that, but at least he was a well-meaning dick. Usually.

Finally, L got to the bottom of the last page and nodded in what Mello hoped was approval. He straightened slightly as he picked the pages up, tapping the bottom of the stack against the desk, and then handed them back to Mello.

"Very good," he said in his usual monotone, making Mello beam. Then he added, "One can barely discern at this point that the pet store owner is the killer."

Crestfallen, Mello frowned down at the pages in his hand. "You can already tell?" he asked dejectedly. "Was it the last couple of pages? Because I wrote those at a point when I was running pretty much entirely on sugar fumes…"

"I doubt it would be obvious to the average reader," L said reassuringly. "I can tell where you borrowed some of the setup of that Larkin case that you were reading over a few weeks ago. Very clever, changing the setting to an underground smuggling ring. But I can still see the parallels, here and there."

Mello felt his face turn red at L's words. "I thought it would make it more believable if it had some basis in reality," he said defensively. "But just a little bit—I wasn't trying to copy it or anything."

"Of course not," L agreed. "It's quite a good amalgamation of reality and fiction, really. But if you wanted to _surprise_ me, you went about it the wrong way. Something from your own mind would be much more unpredictable. I doubt I could guess what would happen even on the next page if you did that. Your thought processes are quite different from any I've encountered before, you know."

Mello's eyes narrowed slightly. Was that a compliment? Or a joke? It was so hard to tell with him… Deadpan seemed to be his default setting. And sometimes, Mello swore that his eyes were just two tiny black holes, absorbing all of the information around him, sucking it into his brain to be processed, all while giving nothing away. All of that made him very hard to read.

"But the writing was okay, at least?" he asked after a long moment, adding haughtily, "I've been getting all A's in my A.P. English class."

"I'm not surprised by that at all. The writing was superb. Even the, ah, 'sugar fumes' part," he said, giving a wry smile. Mello blushed again, this time partly out of pride. "Now then, did you want to assist me with the filing today?"

"Sure," Mello said, grinning as he placed his manuscript on the floor by his backpack. "What do you have for me this week?"

"We've closed two cases in the last week, and taken on another three," L said, gesturing to the stack of folders, loose sheaves of paper, and photos that were sprawled across the table in the conference room. "Light and I will be looking over the new ones tomorrow. Let me know if you have any insight on any of them."

"Will do," Mello agreed as he headed into the conference room, grabbed a stack of papers, and sat down on the floor in front of the filing cabinet to sort through everything.

L was more of an "organized chaos" sort of person, but his partner-turned-editor/public-relations-director, Light, was fastidious about keeping things in a proper order. That was why Mello came in once a week, to sift through the chaos that L created and transform it into some semblance of organization to keep Light happy and keep L from getting scolded by the Anal Retentive Wonder. In return, Mello got to read through the case files as he sorted them, and occasionally he would help with the cases, albeit in a very minimal sense. It was a win-win situation. Officially, it was an internship of sorts for him, to help him prepare for his college studies and eventual life as a detective, though sometimes Mello felt more like an unpaid secretary. But hey, whatever he had to do to get into L's inner circle was fine by him.

He could hear L typing away in the other room as he read through case notes and preliminary findings, but he was so engrossed in the material that he barely noticed when the typing stopped. It wasn't until L placed a slice of cake on the floor in front of him—chocolate, of course, because his mentor knew how much he loved it—that he broke out of his reverie.

"Notice anything?" he asked, crouching against the wall with his own plate in front of him. He toyed with the strawberry on top of his cake, eyeing Mello expectantly.

Mello hesitated, then settled into a more relaxed position, accepting the break and the snack gratefully. "This one with the serial killer—that's the same one the police are looking into, right? The one that's been on the news?"

L smiled, just the slightest quirk at the corners of his mouth, but for him that was the equivalent of a full-blown grin. "Very good, Mello," he said lightly. "Anything else?"

Mello nodded, feeling warm at the praise. "There's more than one person involved," he noted. "There are just enough discrepancies between the cases, but the victims are all from the same background. Petty thieves, druggies, whatever. No one that would be too missed. But the manner of each of the killings is different—this one would require more upper body strength, this one was done with a firearm, this one was made to look like an accident, and so on."

"Indeed," L mused, nodding along to his observations as he picked at his cake. "Any thoughts on what the connection may be?"

The blond thought about that for a moment, taking a bite of his own dessert. He chewed, swallowed, and said, "A cult." He was proud of how self-assured he managed to sound.

L looked thoughtful at that. "Yes, I suppose it could be," he agreed. "I'll have to mention it to Light when he comes in tomorrow. Perhaps he's heard of something through one of his connections with the police. Very good, Mello. Thank you for your assistance."

"Should I be going, then?" Mello asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

"I think you've done plenty here today," L said, then gave him an odd look. Well, odder than usual anyway. "Unless there's something else you wished to discuss?"

The blond hesitated. Honestly, he'd pretty much forgotten about his little email problem—turning his mind to a challenge tended to do that to him—but now that L had said that…

"Have you ever dated anyone?" Mello asked abruptly, then immediately kicked himself. Because really, who needed non-awkward transitions? Damn it.

And judging by the look L was giving him, the strangeness of that segue was not even lost on the socially-impaired.

"Mello," he started gently, placing his fork down as if to give Mello his full attention. "While I appreciate your interest, I am afraid that with our respective ages—"

"No!" Mello interrupted, aghast. His face was burning red with embarrassment, and he found himself thinking that if there was a God, He could just strike him down now, because that would be lovely and probably less painful than trying to explain himself. "No no no! That wasn't what I meant! I just… I have this situation, someone sent me this weird email, and I don't know who it is, and… You know what, don't worry about. I'll see you next week."

As Mello stood to make a hasty retreat, L tilted his head. "Ah, I see," he said, apparently ignoring Mello's request to drop the subject. "You mean a love letter?"

The blond winced at the phrasing. "When you say it like that, it sounds kind of embarrassing…" he muttered, still gathering up his stuff.

"Not at all," he said dismissively. Mello wondered if L even registered embarrassment, or if it wasn't part of his programming. "And you would like my help discerning who your admirer is? It's not the sort of case that we usually take on, but I am intrigued. Who at your school would have access to your email address?"

"Pretty much everyone, actually," Mello replied, sitting back down. "At the beginning of the year, there were a few teachers who asked me for permission to give out my email address to students who missed class so that they could get the notes and assignments, since my notes are always so good… It could have been any of them, or anyone they know."

"Hm, we can't narrow it down that way, then," L said, chewing on his thumbnail. Mello had to smile—that was what he did when he was working on a case. A _real_ case. L must either have an actual interest in the life of his mentee, or else just be very, very bored. "Any other distinguishing characteristics?"

"None yet, but I wrote them back yesterday, and I'm hoping that they'll respond and give me some clues," Mello said, shrugging. "But that's not really what I was wondering about… I mean, I am, but… Regardless of who it is… Do you think I should, you know… give them a chance?"

L blinked. "You would want my advice on something like that?" he asked.

"Well, yeah," Mello said, squirming slightly. God, this was awkward. "I mean, you of all people know how messed up the world can be. I have no idea who this person is. They could turn out to be that serial killer, for all I know."

L looked thoughtful for a moment, still worrying at his thumb. "There are dangerous people in the world, Mello," L acceded, "but that's no excuse not to take chances. Not to live."

"So I should go for it, then?" the blond asked.

"Perhaps," he said, shrugging. "There are ways to hurt people without being a serial killer, of course. Is that, perhaps, all that you're worried about?"

Mello blushed. "I can handle it," he said, looking away as if that could hide how well L had seen through him. "I just… thought I would check with you."

"Well, do what you feel is best," L said. Mello found that advice decidedly unhelpful. "And if you would, bring me a copy of that letter next time. I'll analyze the phrasing. Try to rule out serial killers."

Mello wondered again if he was joking, but agreed nonetheless.

* * *

The first thing Mello did when he got home was check his email. He was not proud of that, nor of the way his heart skipped a beat when he found the email from Mail4U waiting for him, but luckily there were no witnesses about.

And there were also no witnesses to see how his face turned bright crimson as he read through the newest installment of his own personal mystery.

Mail… was a guy?

Somehow, it was difficult for him to process. Despite being in love with another boy for pretty much every moment of his post-pubescent life, he had never really thought of himself as _gay_… After all, it was just the one guy that he was interested in. But if he liked the one, then presumably he could like others. He could like this one. He seemed fun and interesting enough, and he apparently liked video games, just like Matt did (which made Mello worry that his "type" may be "nerd," but whatever). He was also smart enough not to fall for Mello's tricks, and he didn't seem to mind Mello's arrogance or anger issues. In fact, he seemed to _like_ those things about him. Even Matt seemed to just tolerate his more violent quirks. If all went well, Mello could _date_ him.

If he wasn't a serial killer. If this wasn't a sick joke. If he could take that risk.

He was willing to admit that this person probably was not actually a murderer, but as for the other… For all he knew, this could just be some random person at school trying to trick him into making a fool of himself. He could be someone that he had beaten in some contest or another, or someone he'd just plain beaten. There were plenty in both categories, and any one of them would love the opportunity to take sweet revenge against him.

…but that's no excuse not to take chances. Not to live.

Remembering what L had said, Mello took a deep breath, and then took a chance.

**End Chapter Four**

**Author's End Note: **You know, I'm not crazy about this chapter. Took me a while to figure out why, but I think it has a lot to do with the fact that there's no Matt in it, and I love writing their banter so much that it just feels wrong when it's not there. Ah, well… Everything for a reason. This shit will all come up later. Plot and shit. Hope you enjoyed—more Mello-Matt bickering next chapter. As god intended. Anyway, review if you have any thoughts or questions. See you next time!


	5. Chapter Five: Secrets

**Author's Note: **So, a bit late on this one… Ugly confession time: I haven't written in like a week. o.o This is not good, because it gives my brain time to think about other things that I'd rather not think about, but I've just been so crazy busy and the story is going in a weird direction and I haven't decided if I want to fully commit to that direction yet, so… yeah. Bit of the writer's block. And this coming week, a friend is visiting from up north (I'm from New England but live in Florida, which means I sometimes get friends and family trying to escape the cold), so I doubt I'll be able to write for a few days there, either… Anyway. Hopefully after that, things will even out. I've never gotten this far on a story in my life (currently I'm at Chapter Eleven), so I really don't want to give up on it. Fingers crossed, guys.

Thank you for all of the follows/faves, and of course, the reviews! I'm kind of wanting to try something here… If you review, please post a one-word prompt and I'll see if I can make a one-shot story out of it. No guarantees, but I'm kind of hoping that it will help to shake off the block. If you could, I'd really appreciate it. :3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Death Note, the characters of Death Note, or anything even vaguely resembling sanity.

**Chapter Five: Secrets**

The pounding on the door nearly made Matt fall out of bed, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he was thrown unceremoniously from the sweet bliss of sleep.

"Matt! You'd better not still be sleeping in there!" came the annoyed voice of his best friend through the closed door.

"Well, I'm not anymore!" Matt yelled back, equally annoyed.

"Not any…? Matt, it's almost seven-thirty!"

"Yeah, and we live in a sick fucking world where _that's_ considered a perfectly normal hour to be awake," Matt grumbled, pulling on his jeans and a striped shirt, then his goggles. "Calm your man-tits, Mello, I'll be out in a minute."

"Great, because that's about all we have if you don't want to be late!"

Personally, Matt gave no shits one way or another about being on time, but because he knew it was important to Mello, he hustled. Grabbing his backpack and shoving his half-finished homework into it (hey, he was smart, and if he couldn't use that intelligence to bang out an assignment in the five minutes between classes then what was the point?), he unlocked the door and swung it open to reveal a fuming Mello.

"Morning, sunshine," Matt said cheerfully, summoning as much energy as he could at that ungodly hour. Mello just glared at him, following a pace behind him as he made his way to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

"Why the fuck was the door locked?" Mello asked, not bothering to give him a proper greeting.

"Dunno," Matt said, masking his discomfort with a practiced air of indifference. "To keep out all the ladies?"

"Don't be an asshole, Matt," Mello snapped. "And hurry the hell up!"

"Okay, well, _this_ door's about to be locked to keep out the heinous bitch that is my best friend," Matt said, closing the bathroom door (perhaps a bit harder than necessary) on Mello's enraged face and locking it. Sighing, he put his hands on the sink, looking into the mirror. The goggles would hide the dark circles under his eyes, and he could nap in math class. He'd be okay. No one would be able to tell that he'd been up half the night, and if no one could tell, then no one could ask why.

Matt pulled down the goggles long enough to wash his face, then brushed his teeth hastily. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door again. Mello, waiting outside, jumped slightly.

"You slammed the door on me," the blond said, eyes narrowed.

"Well, yeah," Matt said, arching an eyebrow at his friend. "You kind of deserved it."

"You've never done that before."

"Sorry, Mels," he said, just a little stunned by the random turn. "Didn't realize it would upset you that much. That time of the month?"

There was a long pause, and Mello stared him down, icy-blue eyes irate and calculating. Matt shifted uncomfortably under that gaze, wondering how much he would soon be regretting the decision to make not one, but _two_ Mello-is-a-girl jokes before the blond had had his coffee. He knew people who had been force-fed tampons for saying something like that (unused, of course—Mello was sick, not disgusting). He may get a free pass on a lot for being his best friend, but he wasn't sure when those exceptions would run out…

"Are you okay, Matty?" Mello asked finally, a measure of his anger fading away to be replaced by curiosity and… something like concern? Matt flushed, looking away. Damn his powers of perception. Matt had always known that that detective would be bad news.

But hey, at least he wouldn't be eating any feminine products for breakfast.

"Yeah, just a long night," the redhead mumbled vaguely.

"Again?" Mello asked, looking irritated again. The guy switched emotions like Matt switched the lead Pokemon on his team, but in this case, it worked in his favor. "Matt, you really have to learn to turn the game off once it's starting to get light out."

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," the redhead responded. "So, shall we get moving?"

Mello glowered at him. "Oh, sure, _now_ you want to get moving," he said, obviously getting geared up for a major tirade. "Seriously, Matt, you're damn smart, but you can be such a fucking _idiot_ sometimes. Do you know what missing first period all those times is going to do to your G.P.A? And what it's going to do to your chances of getting into a decent college? I can only take care of you for so long, you know, and if you can't even get your ass out of—"

"Matt," came the voice at the other end of the hall, interrupting Mello mid-rant. "Can you ask your friend to keep it down?"

Matt groaned inwardly, his body stiffening. Next to him, Mello jumped again, startled. "Sorry, Dad," the redhead muttered. He glanced down the hallway, seeing his father standing in the half-opened door. He looked disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot red, but he was nowhere near as bad as he had been last night. That was good, at least.

"Yeah, sorry Mr. Jeevas," Mello chimed in, having the decency to look abashed. "I didn't realize you were home. We're on our way out the door."

The man in the doorway nodded, dark eyes settling on Mello and squinting slightly, as if he were struggling to recognize him. As if Mello hadn't been over a thousand and one times before.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I guess you would be. Have a good day, kids."

And that was it. Door closed, and Matt felt his body relax. Mello had that calculating look on his face again, though, as he glanced suspiciously towards the end of the hall.

"He seems… off," the blond said slowly, frowning.

"Yeah, well, anniversary's coming up," Matt said, watching his friend's face as understanding dawned. It was only the slightest fib, the slightest omission. "This time of year is always hard on him."

"I'm sorry, Matty. When is it, again? The twenty-eighth?" Mello asked, even though Matt had never known him to forget an important date in his life.

"Yeah," he said, then, "Let's go, Mels."

Mello, thankfully, dropped the subject, assuming it was hard for Matt to talk about. He wasn't wrong, either. Even if that wasn't the full story.

Glancing nervously down the hall again before they disappeared into the January cold, Matt hoped his father would be okay until he got home.

* * *

"Hey Near," Matt said as he dropped into the chair opposite the pale boy, placing the tray of food down on the table.

"Matt," Near acknowledged, engrossed in the puzzle he was assembling on the cafeteria table. His own meal was off to one side, being ignored.

"You know you have to eat, right?" Matt asked, pulling out his 3DS with one hand and bringing a slice of pizza to his mouth with the other. "Gotta feed that giant brain of yours, after all."

"I have sufficient caloric intake," Near said, clicking another piece into place. "But thank you for your concern."

Matt hummed in disapproval, but didn't nag, turning on his own distraction as he ate. After a few moments, he noticed Near pull his tray a bit closer and take a few bites of an apple. Smiling to himself, he moved onto his dessert cup—chocolate pudding that wasn't too disgusting—and saw Near do the same. Sometimes, these genius kids were just too predictable, and Near, especially, needed someone to take care of him a lot of the time. Matt just happened to be very good at that.

He really would've been a great big brother.

The thought, though not entirely out of the ordinary, hit him hard today. Feeling the familiar pang of regret in his stomach, Matt sighed. He'd never know for sure, now, but he still felt like it was a role that would have suited him.

"Are you feeling all right, Matt?"

Pulling his eyes away from the screen, Matt looked up to see Near staring intently at him, a look of concern on his normally impassive face. Putting on a grin to set the boy's mind at ease, Matt nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Near," he said. "Just had a long night, that's all. And those desks are really hard to sleep in."

Near didn't look entirely convinced, but he let the subject drop, for which Matt was thankful. While more observant than Mello in a lot of ways—because he spent most of his time sitting quietly, he was able to take in more objective data, whereas Mello was more prone to alter the world around him in often-violent ways—Near was much less stubborn than the blond. As much as Matt enjoyed the ball of energy and emotion that was his best friend, he had to admit, Near's calmness was a refreshing change of pace sometimes.

"Mello seems to be feeling better today," the pale boy noted quietly, changing subjects. He was being chatty today. Matt was impressed. "I assume that you had something to do with that?"

"Me? Nah," the redhead said dismissively, keeping his eyes on his game. "You know how he is. His jeans were probably just too tight again. I know that would distract _me_."

Near gave him a look that seemed to say "I know you are lying, but I am far too socially awkward to know how to call you out on it in a way that would be deemed appropriate, so I will just pretend to agree."

"Of course," he said, pretending to agree. Matt had to wonder how he had become this good at translating Genius to Normal. Could he put that on a resume? "Well, hopefully, his wardrobe problems will not continue."

"Yep," Matt said, pushing more buttons and grinning as he leveled up. "Hopefully."

* * *

"I really wish you would have taken that Intro to Psych class with me, Matty," Mello said, his tone almost cheerful. "It's really interesting, and we're going to be discussing personality theories next week. I think it'll come in handy for my work with L, too."

Matt, walking beside him, smiled to hear his friend so enthusiastic again. Hell, he could even be considered _happy_. Mello didn't normally _do_ happy—closest would probably be "reveling in another's despair" most days. He'd been happy pretty much all day today, though (minus the bit in the morning, but really, who can be held accountable for what they say or do before the caffeine kicks in?). It was an excellent change, and Matt was sure that he could take full credit for it… or at least, he would, if he were able to admit that he was Mello's "secret admirer." But then, that would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?

Also, the grisly, painful death would likely put a damper on his gloating.

"Have you figured out what's wrong with you yet?" he asked, and then hopped off the sidewalk and onto the grass to avoid the fist aimed in his direction. "'Cause if they can't even teach you that much, the class probably isn't worth your time."

"Shut it, Jeevas," Mello said, but there was a lightness behind it the words that meant he wasn't really planning to hurt him. Matt appreciated that. "Anyway, I don't know why you decided to go with that programming class as your elective, instead. Don't you already know all that shit?"

"Well, yeah, but that just means that it's prime napping-hour material," Matt pointed out, making his friend sigh. "I mean, it will look good on my college applications, of course."

"Nice save," Mello said wryly. "You did send those in, by the way, right?"

"Yes, Mello," Matt said, trying his best to look meek. He had, too—Mello just didn't need to know that he wasn't actually intending on _going_ to any of those schools, even if he did get in. He wasn't ready for that fight just yet.

"Good," Mello said as they came up on the Jeevas house, or as Matt called it, the Matt Cave. "And don't stay up too late again tonight. I don't want your dad getting upset with me again if I have to drag your ass out of bed tomorrow morning."

"You could always just, you know, not be so loud and yell-y about it," Matt muttered. Mello gave him a look like he was crazy. "Right, sorry, forgot who I was talking to for a second there."

"Seven-thirty a.m. You will be awake, you will be dressed, and you will be ready to go," Mello said firmly.

"You keep working on those psychic powers, buddy," Matt said, then smiled at his friend. "Later, Mels."

"Later, Matty," Mello said, waving him off as he continued on to his own place.

Matt watched him go, well-content. It seemed that all was right in Mello-Land, the most twisted and terrifying of theme parks. Unlocking to door to his house, he went inside to find it deserted. More good news—his father must have made it into work after all. Matt dumped his backpack and shoes by the door, then hurried into the bedroom to get in his gaming time.

And, of course, to check his email.

His normal inbox didn't have anything of consequence in it—some advertisements, announcements about new games, and of course the mandatory offers for penis enlargement that had obviously been sent by someone who had never seen him in the locker room. But when he clicked on his alternate account, he saw that Mello had responded.

Matt felt a little flicker of uneasiness in his chest, but pushed it down. Probably just politely declining. Except it was Mello, so probably not _actually_ polite, but hopefully he didn't make any statements that someone would be able to use to get him declared him legally insane later in life.

Sighing, Matt clicked on the message, his eyes scanning the lines on the screen… and gradually widening as he read. Oh no. Oh no no no…

_Dear Mail,_

_ Glad to hear that you are as humble as you are intelligent/sexy/daring, etc. Seems that we have a lot in common. Because of that, I'm going to take a chance here and let you in on a secret: I am also attracted to guys._

_ So, here's the deal: you can either take this information and keep it the hell to yourself and I never hear from you again, in which case I will assume that this was all an elaborate prank, or you can write back and we can see where things go here, in which case I guess you are serious and as intelligent as you claim. I am quite a catch, you know. _

_ The third option, of course , is that this was a prank and you are planning to spread this news all over school. I do not recommend this option. If you have been watching me as closely as you claim, then you must know about my best friend, Matt, and you must know that he is a genius when it comes to computers. He could figure out who you are in a heartbeat. The only reason I haven't already gotten him to find it for me is because I'd rather keep him out of this and discern who you are on my own. But if you so much as breathe one word about me being into guys, I will tell him. He will find you for me. And I will kill you. It will not be quick. It will be painful. You have been warned._

_ On that cheery note, I am hoping that I hear from you soon. If not, just stay the fuck away from me. We will pretend this never happened, and you will live to see graduation._

_ Later (hopefully),_

_ -Mello_

This… was not good.

Matt felt the room spinning around him. Mello was still interested in Mail. His fool-proof escape plan had not been so fool-proof after all, and he was a fucking _idiot_ because now if he didn't respond, Mello would be twice as bad as he had been because he would think that all of these messages had just been a sick joke, and he'd also be paranoid about someone out there knowing his secret and potentially using it against him. Matt didn't know if he could bring Mello back from that one. He was good, but he wasn't a fucking miracle-worker and he definitely couldn't do much if he was dead.

Which he almost certainly would be if Mello ever, ever found out that he had _accidentally tricked his best friend into revealing his deepest, darkest secret oh god dammit!_

And that, of course, raised a few very important questions, starting with: Mello was fucking _gay_? How had he not known about this? He knew _everything_ about Mello! Why wouldn't Mello tell him something like that? It was kind of a big fucking deal, wasn't it? The kind of thing that someone would tell his best friend in the whole world since kindergarten?

Did Mello think that it would _bother_ Matt? Did he think that Matt would feel differently about him if he knew? What the crap?

How could he keep this from him? What _else_ was he keeping from him?

What was he going to do?

Panicking, Matt forced himself to take a few deep breaths. After several moments, the room stopped spinning, mostly, and he forced himself to think this problem through as calmly as possible.

Logically, he knew what he had to do. He had to tell him. They had been friends for a long time, and he knew that Mello would be upset, but he would still forgive him. Eventually. Their friendship had survived that birthday party snafu in second grade, right? What was an accidental outing to an entire cake and several less-than-hardy presents being destroyed in a pony stampede?

If he told him, everything would be simpler. Not fixed, at least not right away, but it would be a start.

Except…

Except that he couldn't do it.

Groaning in frustration, Matt hit his head against the desk. Logic, apparently, need not apply here. Emotion would reign supreme. It was a sad day for Spock.

It wasn't just that he was afraid to tell him, although he was. It wasn't even that Mello would be hurt, although Matt knew he would be, and that made him so very uncomfortable because Mello was his best friend and he would _never_ have done any of this if he'd known it would hurt him.

It was because if he told him, Mello would be all alone.

Mello hadn't told him that he was gay. He didn't feel safe enough to tell him, or something stupid like that, but he felt safe enough to tell Mail because he thought they were in the same boat. If Matt were to take it back, if he were to tell him now that it was all a lie, he'd probably never tell Matt anything again… And he wasn't even telling him everything now.

And, if Matt was completely honest with himself, a selfish part of him just didn't want to be left out like that again. He was supposed to know everything about his friend, dammit. That's why he only had the one—it was easier to keep track. If Mello was keeping this from him, what else could he be hiding?

Matt reached for his keyboard. He felt warm and slightly dizzy from the sudden rush of panic, and his pulse was still thrumming in his ears, but he knew, _knew_, that even if this was a mistake, this was the way it had to be. Something inside of him told him that he was right. And besides, he was smart. He'd figure out a way to make this work. Somehow. Hopefully.

As he started typing, he wondered how badly he was about to fuck things up.

**End Chapter Five**

**Author's End Note: **Hope you all enjoyed! How's the pacing feeling to everyone, by the way? I can never tell, I was trying not to rush anything or introduce too much all at once, but now it just feels weird and scattered… Anyway, thanks for reading, review if you can, and those prompts would be much appreciated. See you next time!


	6. Chapter Six: Hug

**Author's Note: **Hoo boy, late again… Got excuses for this one, mostly narcolepsy-related, but still, I'm gonna try to be better going forward. Still fighting my way through the Block, but I've realized that it's like… actually less of a Block, and more just indecision? Like, I'm still writing, but I'm rewriting the same chapter three times over before I consider it "done." Which is obnoxious as all hell. And when that happens, it's good to have an alternate outlet—hence, the prompts I asked for previously! ^^ Big thanks to High on the Rainbow, TheDarkestOne, and GlitterDrop for the responses there. All three will be written eventually. Possibly quite quickly, depending on how frustrated I get with this one. Fingers crossed? XD And thank you to everyone else who reviewed, as well, of course! Keep 'em coming!

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own Matt, Mello, or Death Note. I'm just playin' around with them a bit.

**Secret Admirer**

**Chapter Six: Hug**

Mello had a song stuck in his head. Since he didn't normally listen to the kind of music that Matt called "fun" but Mello called "pop crap" or "an atrocity to the ears," he found himself blaming his friend as he hummed along in the near-silence of the library. Still, it wasn't the worst song in the world, and he decided he was okay with the nice beat underlying the melody. He'd have to ask Matt for the album later. The poor guy probably wouldn't be able to compute the request after that time Mello had threatened his iPod with a hammer, but the blond was sure he'd get some very interesting faces out of the deal.

He had gotten another reply from Mail last night, so that was probably a contributing factor to his good mood today. The other boy had been surprised to hear that he was still interested, but he seemed happy about it—and why wouldn't he be? Mello, the Patron Saint of All Things Sexy, was showing an interest in him! The guy should be on his knees offering thanks to whatever gods he believed in.

The only downside was that Mail still hadn't revealed anything that could help Mello narrow down his identity. He seemed to have taken Mello's comment that he'd rather "discern who you are on my own" to heart, and he was giving the blond as little help as possible, just to keep things "interesting." It was incredibly obnoxious, and Mello wished he had watched his words a bit more carefully.

"_But don't worry_," Mail had written, as if sensing how pissed off Mello would be. "_I know how smart you are. I'm sure you'll find me and we'll be making out under the bleachers in no time."_

Should he be getting so excited about someone he'd never even met? Mello wasn't sure, but he had felt a very pleasant warmth spread through his body at those words. He'd never made out with anyone before, and he found he was looking forward to it. He _was_ a teenage boy, after all, and even if he generally considered himself superior to his classmates, he had to admit that the idea was… intriguing.

But first he would have to figure out who this fucker was.

Sighing, Mello closed the book he had been skimming through and went to return it to the stacks. Not quite what he needed for his research paper in World History, but there had to be _something_ a bit more detailed about the social ramifications of the Boxer Rebellion somewhere in this pitiful excuse for a library. Grabbing a few more texts, he brought them back to where he had been sitting… only to find another person at his table.

Mello's eyes narrowed, taking in the stranger. Well, no, not a stranger exactly—he recognized him from his Introduction to Psychology class. Blue eyes, brown hair that had been styled into soft spikes, jeans and a black hoodie… Nothing too spectacular, but he seemed to be popular enough with his classmates as far as Mello had been able to tell. Mello didn't know what his name was, but then, he usually didn't bother with names unless someone was on his shit list, so that was probably a good sign for this guy. Shrugging, the blond decided to ignore him, taking his usual seat and preparing to bury himself in research, as he did most lunch periods. He wasn't about to beat Near to valedictorian status by sitting in a cafeteria with the rest of the drooling masses, after all.

He started flipping through the first book, finding the sections that were relevant to his paper and dog-earing them to peruse more thoroughly later. This book seemed a bit better than the last, at least. Putting it to the side, he happened to glance over at the other boy, and noticed what he was reading.

"Hey," he said, causing the other boy to jump slightly, his blue eyes going wide. "Is that for the paper in Psych? The one on cognitive dissonance?"

The brunet hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah," he said cautiously. "Why?"

"That book is crap," Mello said bluntly. He leaned over, digging through the pile of books that the other boy had amassed, and handed one to him. "There. The examples in that one are way better, and the author actually sounds like he graduated elementary school."

"Thanks," he said, taking the proffered book with a grin. He had a nice smile, all dimples and white, straight teeth. Mello found himself smirking back.

"No problem," Mello said, turning contentedly back to his own work. Not a minute passed, though, before he heard the other boy scooch his chair a bit closer.

"Hey, you're that really smart kid, right?" he asked, looking curious. "The one who tied Danny Thompson to the water heater and left him there over night?"

"Yeah, that's me," Mello said, wincing. Why did they always remember the crazy crap he did? Why couldn't they remember all of the people he _didn't_ tie up somewhere, for once?

"I'm Simon. Sy for short, though. No one actually calls me Simon, it's kind of dorky name. Funny, you don't _look_ like a raving lunatic like everyone says," the boy mused, flinching a bit under Mello's death glare. "Ah, _now_ I can see it."

"Is there some point to this?" the blond asked tersely.

"Well, kind of," the other boy—Sy—said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I mean, everyone says to stay away from you if you value your limbs, but you don't seem so bad. Want to hang out sometime? There's a party this Friday that some of my friends are going to…"

"I don't really do parties," Mello said, cutting him off. Plus, Friday nights were his nights with Matt. Not that this guy needed to know that.

"Oh, that's too bad…" Sy said, looking pensive. "Well, how about doing something with just the two of us, then? Maybe Saturday night?"

Mello blinked. "Just us?" he asked carefully. Could this guy be…?

"Yeah, just us," the other boy said.

"That sounds like a date."

"Well, yeah," he said, having the decency to blush. Good. Mello didn't want to be the only one feeling incredibly awkward here. "I mean, if you're not into it, that's cool, but I just thought… From what I've heard you've never dated any _girls_, so…"

"So you're really just asking me, out of the blue, if I'm interested in guys in general and you in particular?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," Sy said, getting more flustered. "Look, if I'm totally off-base, I'm sorry and I didn't mean to freak you out, but I just figured I'd give it a shot and—"

"What are your thoughts on anonymous emails?" Mello asked abruptly, eyes narrowed.

Sy's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Mello watched him carefully for any of the telltale signs of a lie that L had taught him. There were none. "Er… I'm sorry?" he asked hesitantly, obviously bewildered by the sudden topic shift. "Is that crazy-code for something?"

"No, never mind," Mello said hastily. Not Mail, then. Had Matt been right when he'd said that there were other people at this school who may be interested in him? Huh. Maybe those dating sims had taught him more than Mello had realized… "I'll think about it. I don't have anything going on that night. How does this work, do you want my number or something, or…?"

Sy grinned, looking relieved and amused. "Yeah, that'd be good," he said. He scribbled down his own number in the corner of his notebook, then tore off that part of the page to give to Mello. The blond did the same for him, handing it over just as the bell rang. "So, I guess I'll hear from you, then?"

"Maybe," Mello said noncommittally, though inside his heart was pounding. He gathered his stuff, heading to his next class, trying to force himself not to smirk too obviously.

He may just figure out this "dating" thing yet.

* * *

Mello was humming to himself again as he waited for Matt outside of school. He'd had a math test last period, and he had finished much more quickly than his inferior classmates and gotten the hell out of there, but Matt had history class with long-winded Mr. Connors. He hoped his friend would be able to escape soon so that they could hang out a bit before going home.

He wondered if he should tell him about Sy.

Cringing, Mello pushed the thought from his mind. He wasn't ready yet. He wasn't sure why—he knew, deep down, that Matt would accept him regardless because, hell, that's just who Matt was. If you didn't judge him for his goggles and video game collection, he didn't judge you for… well, pretty much anything. He was the most open-minded person Mello knew, if for no better reason than he was too damn lazy to be bothered with giving any shits. That was one of the many things that Mello loved about him.

But there was still a chance, no matter how slight, that he would care. And if he did, things would change between them forever. Mello wasn't willing to take that risk just yet. Not over a stupid first date that may not actually go anywhere, at least.

And besides, even if he _were_ ready, the timing would suck. Matt didn't need any added drama the day before the anniversary of his mom's death.

"Mels, are you humming _Matchbox 20_?" Matt asked, sounding both amused and disbelieving.

Mello stopped immediately, shooting a glare at his friend. "Yes, I am," he said, each word clipped and icy. "And it's all your fault. That crap you listen to infests the mind far too easily, and it's going to rot my brain away just like it has yours."

"Uh huh. Want to borrow the album so you can burn a copy?"

"…Yeah, thanks."

"No problem, man," Matt said, snickering. He hoisted his backpack, then started walking in the direction of home, just a few blocks away. Mello did the same, following. It wasn't a big town, and they lived within easy walking distance of one another, a fact that had caused hell for both of their parents when they were kids.

Which reminded him…

"So," he started, hesitating only slightly. "You going to stay home tomorrow?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, I think so," he said, a strange look crossing his face. "I mean, my dad is, so..."

"Makes sense," Mello murmured. He always felt so awkward around this time of year—he never knew what to do for his best friend, and he hated feeling this damn _useless_—but this year, in particular, Matt seemed to be acting… odd. Odder than usual, anyway. He'd been more on-edge, more distracted. Mello had even seen him lose a round when he'd been playing Super Smash Bros. on his 3DS in homeroom this morning. It was just _wrong_. "You'll let me know if you need anything, right?"

"Yeah, I will," Matt said, smiling and nudging Mello's shoulder with his own. It was a comforting gesture, a way of saying 'I'm here,' and Mello felt a little bit annoyed that he hadn't thought of doing something like that himself. Leave it to Matt to try and reassure him down when, by all rights, _he_ should be the one upset and in need of reassuring. "Thanks, Mels. I mean it."

"Yeah, well, just don't call me up asking for hookers and blow or anything," Mello muttered, and Matt gave him a look of utter betrayal.

"Well, I'm just not sure why I keep you around, then."

"I shared my crayons with you once when we were five, and then I couldn't figure out how to get rid of you."

"Oh yeah," Matt mused, a bright grin stretching across his face as he threw one arm around Mello's shoulders. "Okay, you're still my best friend, then!"

The blond rolled his eyes, but he felt that same warm flutter in his chest that he did whenever Matt treated him this way—with that casual affection that Mello could never quite reproduce. Introverted shut-in that he was, Matt didn't socialize with many people, but once he was close with someone, he had very few boundaries. It was both a blessing and a curse for Mello, who always wanted just a little bit more than Matt would be willing to give, even to him.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, Mello tried to think about Sy and Mail again, two people who _would_ be willing to give the "more" that he wanted. It was hard to do, though, with Matt so warm and close beside him. He didn't seem to be letting go, either, content to keep his arm around his best friend with that stupid, goofy smile on his face. Sighing, Mello resigned himself to being under his friend's arm for the rest of the walk home.

He wished that that thought didn't make him feel so content.

Too soon or not soon enough, they came up to Matt's place, and the redhead detached himself, smile fading slightly as he looked back at the door. He seemed almost nervous, hesitant to go in. Mello wondered why. He didn't understand what was going through Matt's head, and that brought on that helpless feeling again. He hated that feeling. And as with most things he hated, he would make it pay.

Taking a deep breath, Mello grabbed his best friend and hugged him close. It was stiff and awkward, as the blond boy was not exactly used to initiating physical contact. It was certainly nowhere near as effortless as Matt's hugs. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he sucked at it. But it was the best he could do, dammit, and Matt had better appreciate it.

After a stunned pause, the redhead hugged him back, and Mello felt his cheeks heat up. Suddenly, the hug wasn't awkward any more—it was comforting and perfect and Mello knew that that was all because of Matt, but he was still going to take the credit here. When they broke apart, Matt gave him another one of his too-beautiful smiles, his eyes bright again behind tinted lenses.

"Have fun sitting through Mrs. Albritton's class alone tomorrow," he chirped. Mello rolled his eyes again.

"Yes, God forbid I actually manage to pay attention without your constant stream of inappropriate doodles being passed my way," he deadpanned.

"Nobody can pay attention in that class, Mels," Matt said. "I was trying to shield you from that by being your scapegoat, but alas, tomorrow you shall learn the truth."

"Well, if I decide to draw a bunch of cartoon dicks, I'll be sure to bring them to you."

"I'll put them on the fridge," Matt announced cheerfully. Then he spun on his heel to head up the walkway to his house. He waved at the door, then disappeared inside.

And Mello walked home to write another message to Mail, trying to forget the way he'd felt with his best friend in his arms.

**End Chapter Six**

**Author's End Note: **I'M SORRY IT JUST HAPPENED. So, now there's a love triangle and shit… Protip, don't turn this story into a "Count the Clichés" drinking game. Won't be good for you. Hope you enjoyed, though, and let me know if anything is seeming off—if it is, I definitely want to know! Till next time!


	7. Chapter Seven: Text

**Author's Note: **…Holy fuck, has it really been a month? o.o Uhhh… Please don't kill me, guys. My life has been a little bit fucked up recently. Can we just pretend this didn't happen and I will try not to let it happen again?

…Please, _please_ put down those pitchforks!

**Secret Admirer**

**Chapter Seven: Text**

It had been getting worse each year.

But then again, maybe Matt just hadn't noticed it as much when he was younger. Maybe his father had simply been better at hiding it, or maybe it was just that now he was too damn drunk to hide it anymore. Sure, he was a very high-functioning alcoholic—he was able to hold down a job, paid the bills on time, and always made sure Matt had enough money for food and clothes and the like—but that didn't change the fact that come nightfall, he became a different person. One that Matt was honestly afraid of.

Not because he would ever hurt his son, of course; no, Matt was afraid of what his father would to himself.

The only blessing here was that his father never started the night _intending_ to hurt himself; if he did, and if he planned accordingly, there would be very little Matt could do to stop him. As it stood, all he had to deal with was the morbid pressure of trying to drunk-proof the house in case the man decided in his stupor that yes, tonight _was_ a good night to die… but hey, at least Matt was getting damn good at the drunk-proofing. The knives had been taken out of the kitchen and were safely hidden beneath the piles of crap in Matt's closet. Same with all of the painkillers and other assorted pills that had been in the medicine cabinet, just waiting for his father to remember them through his drunken haze. Hell, Matt had even taken everything he could think of that could possibly be used as a noose. When his father had figured out what he had done, he had spent a good ten minutes pounding at the locked door, demanding that Matt tell him where they were. Eventually, that had devolved into a dejected sobbing that tore at Matt's heart, and then to the drunken snoring that had become so familiar to him.

He still wouldn't open the door. Every time he thought about it, his hands shook. He didn't want to see his father that broken again.

Stubbornly blocking those memories from his mind, he turned his eyes back to his computer screen. To better memories. Every hard-copy photo of his mother had been destroyed—his father had burned them all on one of his bad nights a few years ago, and then spent the next day in tears with a bottle of vodka when he'd realized what he'd done—but Matt still had a few saved to his hard drive. His father didn't know (because Matt valued that machine more than life itself, and he didn't need _it_ being set on fire, too), but every now and then, when the night got really bad, he would click through them, trying to remember. Trying to keep her alive in his mind.

It was a strange ritual, never as comforting as he thought it would be for the mingled grief and confusion that the images incited, but he did it anyway, steadfastly ignoring the ache in his chest. He could barely remember his mother anymore; she had died when he was very young, still in second grade, but he knew from the pictures that he looked like her. Same dark red hair, same grass-green eyes, same spray of freckles across the same nose… He wondered if it would be easier on his father if he looked less like her, but he supposed it was useless to ask. Not like he could change anything.

He also wondered whether his brother would have looked like her or like their father, but he would never know that, either.

He could still remember the day it had happened, though—long after he had forgotten the sound of her voice, the feel of her hand as she stroked his hair, he could remember that chilly day in January when the world changed. His father came to pick him up at school, and he remembered being upset because it was almost time for art class and they were going to use the paints, and he knew that he and Mello would end up making _some_ kind of a mess. But his father was insistent and a bit frantic, telling him that something was wrong, that the baby in Mommy's belly was trying to come out too early and that they had to go to the hospital to take care of both of them. Matt went, crying without knowing why, just knowing that he was afraid.

She had been gone by the time they got there. His brother, born too soon with lungs too weak, didn't last much longer.

And while Matt had been too young to fully comprehend what had happened at the time, he realized now that his father's world had been shattered on that day. It was still shattering, actually—the pieces were falling all around him, and soon, too soon, the man would break with them.

Matt wondered how much longer his father would last. How much longer Matt could keep him safe from himself.

He had been twelve years old when he first walked in on his father with a bottle of aspirin in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other. Wrestling the former away—quite the feat for a scrawny kid like him, but his dad had already been pretty wasted at that point—he had left the man alone with the latter as he retreated into his room and locked the door, shaking. Then, as now, he had heard him crying through the door before he finally finished the bottle and passed out. Matt didn't tell anyone, didn't even mention it to his father the next day when things seemed normal again. It had been a moment of weakness, that was all. For a while, Matt was able to convince himself that that was all it was, that it wouldn't happen again.

But it wasn't the only time. Again and again, he either listened to his father drunkenly threaten suicide, or stopped him from drunkenly attempting it. And he soon realized that someday, he wouldn't be in the right place at the right time, and his father would succeed. Luckily, the man still made it into work most days—thank God for the long hours of a lawyer—and Matt didn't need to worry about him there, at least not yet, but every other moment that the redhead spent away from home was potentially the moment his father died.

Matt's eyes stung as he clicked through picture after picture, until he couldn't stand it anymore and he closed the folder. He crossed his arms on the desk and laid his head on top of them, refusing to cry. He couldn't break, too. Not now.

Luckily, he was very stubborn. And very skilled in the fine art of repression.

Forcing his mind away from the thoughts currently terrorizing it—he was safe for now, and that was all that mattered, right?—Matt pulled out his 3DS and started it up. Beating up a few pixelated ass-hats always made him feel better. Even today, he could feel his body relax as his thumbs tapped at the controller and he left the problems of the real world behind, because Hyrule needed to be saved, dammit, and he couldn't let personal problems stand in the way of that.

He had to wonder, why couldn't the real world be more like that? Just special-attack your way out of any dilemma? Once it became possible to download his mind into a robot body, with all of its attendant death-rays and rocket-punches, life would be so much easier.

Then he thought about Mello being given death-rays and rocket-punches, and shuddered. The blond tempest could do enough damage with what he had; Matt didn't want to imagine what he could do with superpowers.

Speaking of Mello, though…

Matt glanced at the clock, realizing it was 4p.m. already. School would have ended over an hour ago, which meant Mello should be home soon, if he wasn't already. Curious, Matt put his game down long enough to pull up his email account.

So far, there was no message from Mello to Mail, but he knew it was only a matter of time—Mello had been sending him something pretty soon after he got home every day so far this week. Matt left himself logged in with his inbox pulled up on the screen as he went back to his game. He could be patient. Not like he had anything better to do, anyway.

And besides, he found himself looking forward to Mello's emails. Especially on a day like today.

He felt like he should feel guilty about deceiving his friend like this, but honestly… he was kind of enjoying it. Getting to know a different side of his friend, getting to see how he acted with someone who didn't occupy the coveted role of "best friend," seeing how he flirted—and oh lord, was he _bad_ at flirting! Then again, maybe it was just a distinctly "Mello" sort of flirting, where compliments were peppered with threats of bodily harm… Matt supposed that anyone wanting to date him would have to be willing to deal with that sort of thing (and probably be slightly masochistic, to boot), but still, it was a riot to watch. And because Matt was still Matt, even when he was Mail, he had fun teasing the other boy, and then Mello would tease back, and it was just… fun. Like a game.

The Mello Dating Experience. The most bizarre, potentially life-threatening dating sim ever.

His thumbs still clicking away, Matt wondered absently if all those years of playing video games had maybe caused him to detach from reality a little bit too much, just like Mello always said he would, and if maybe that was why he didn't feel guiltier about all this.

He felt kind of guilty about not feeling guilty, though, so at least there was that, right?

A faint "blip!" from his computer drew his eyes away from his game. Not a new email—but there, in the lower right corner of the screen, was an instant message, blinking insistently away at him.

"_Hey, Stalker—what's up?"_

Matt grinned. A new level. Excellent.

Matt saved his game and put down the console, pulling his keyboard closer.

"_Not much,"_ he wrote. _"So, we've progressed to IM'ing, I see—does this mean we're official? Wanna have chat sex? Oooh, tell me what you're wearing!"_

There was a pause as the other boy wrote back. Matt could practically see the flustered look on his friend's face, and he snickered evilly to himself.

"_You wish, Creeper," _Mello wrote. _"Just thought this would be quicker than email. Objections?"_

"_None, your sexiness,"_ Matt typed. _"So, how was your day? Beat anyone up lately?"_

"_Ah, so you heard about that, then?"_

Matt groaned. Seriously? He couldn't even leave him alone for one day without him getting into trouble? Then again, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised… It was _Mello_, after all.

"_Haha, I was kidding, actually, but not a huge shocker," _Matt wrote back._ "Who was it?"_

"_That asshat Jake Roy,"_ Mello wrote. Matt was vaguely familiar with the name—some guy on the… football team, maybe? Or basketball? Eh, sports of some manner, Matt didn't really care. Mello had never had an issue with him before, but the blond was notoriously capricious and his (rather lengthy) shit-list was prone to change at a moment's whim, so…

"_And what did the fucktard do to incur your wrath?" _Matt typed. He assumed that there was a reason, anyway.

"_Well, as my stalker, I'm sure you noticed that my friend Matt was out today, yeah?" _Mello asked. _"This douchenozzle had some choice theories on why he might be out. Sex change operation, stupid shit like that. He had a lot of people laughing, too, until I broke his fucking nose for him."_

Matt had to shake his head at that, grinning. Despite his relatively small size and effeminate appearance, Mello was a fucking powerhouse fueled by pure rage in a fight. Most people didn't walk away from him without at least _something_ broken, and he didn't often walk away without a detention or two—the only dark spots on his otherwise impeccable academic record. And while he didn't normally like using his badass powers for the forces of good, his stalwart defensiveness of his best friend was the one exception. Matt kind of wished he wouldn't—after all, what did he care if a few assholes thought he was a loser? He knew better, and so did the Elite Four—but a part of him also really loved knowing that he was protected. Like he had his own personal bodyguard, one who may or may not have escaped from a mental institution.

"_Ha! Nice,"_ he wrote back. _"I'm sure Matt will appreciate it."_

"_Eh, not really,"_ Mello wrote. _"He doesn't really like it when I get into fights. He's too laid-back to truly appreciate the concept of pounding someone's face in. But it sure as hell made me feel better—like I was actually doing something to help him."_

Matt's brow furrowed at that. _"What do you mean?"_ he asked, genuinely confused. Help him? What did he need help with?

Well, stupid question, really—and as if to punctuate just how stupid, his father let out a drunken snore from the hallway at just that moment—but what did _Mello_ think he needed help with?

There was a long pause before Mello started typing again. _"Well, it has to do with the real reason he was out today," _he finally wrote. _"It's no big secret, but his mom died ten years ago today—he stayed home to, I dunno, grieve or someshit. Whatever people do on the anniversary of someone's death. And I have no fucking clue what that is, or how to help with it, because I haven't lost anyone like that. I don't even know what to _say_ to him. He was acting really weird when I saw him yesterday (well, weirder than usual), and I had no idea what to do. It kinda pissed me off."_

"Awww, Mels!" Matt gushed out loud, chuckling to himself. He had noticed that Mello had been extra-awkward yesterday, but he couldn't believe that it was because he was actually _concerned_ about his best friend. That was just adorable, especially coming from someone whose motto in life seemed to be "If I can't solve the problem by punching it, it's not worth my time."

Of course, now Matt felt kind of guilty, because he hadn't told his friend the real reason he had been acting so strangely yesterday, but oh well. He'd deal with that later. Or preferably, never.

_"I wouldn't worry about it too much,"_ Matt wrote back after a moment. _"I highly doubt this guy befriended you for your expertise in all things warm and fuzzy. Just act like you normally do, but, y'know, be there for him if he needs more."_

A long pause, and then, _"I find your advice decidedly unhelpful."_

Matt had to laugh at that. Here he was, giving Mello advice on how to deal with him, and the blond was shooting him down. Only Mello would be this uncooperative.

_"Hm, too general?"_ he asked. _"How about this, then: reach out, let him know that you're thinking about him. I mean, I'm sure you've done the whole 'Let me know if you need anything' shtick"—_of course Matt was sure, since he'd heard it first-hand yesterday_—"but he probably won't take you up on it. It'd be nice to just remind him that you're there, even if he doesn't need you to do something for him. I bet he'd like that."_

Another pause. _"Man, you really suck at this."_

Matt shook his head, grinning. _"Yeah, probably,"_ he typed. _"Sorry, I'm no shrink here."_

_"Clearly—as far as you secret identity goes, I guess I can rule out anyone in my Intro to Psych class now."_

_ "Oooh, secret identity—you're making me sound like a superhero!"_

_ "Calm down, fanboy,"_ Mello wrote, and Matt laughed aloud. He was sure that Mello was rolling his eyes at him. _"If anything, a stalker like you would be a supervillain, not a hero. Anyway, I've gotta get going—homework and all. Talk to you later, I guess."_

_ "Yeah, see ya," _Matt typed, then couldn't resist adding, _"not that you'll know when I'm watching, of course, mwahaha!"_

_ "Creeper."_

And with that, Mello logged off. Matt, still snickering to himself, followed suit, then put his computer to sleep and relocated to the bed. Lying propped up on his elbows, he opened his 3DS again, intending to finish this level before he tried to brave the hallway in search of something edible.

After a few moments, he heard his phone buzz, and automatically reached over to check it. Pausing the game, he saw that he had a new text message.

_"Hey Matty—just wanted to check in on you. Missed you at school today. You're right, Mrs. Albritton's class does suck when it's dick-free."_

Matt felt his cheeks heat up, and a goofy grin spread across his face as a pleasantly warm feeling settled in his chest. Mello had taken his advice after all. Mello was reaching out to help him, even though he didn't need the help, at least not in the way he thought. Mello was _there_ for him. The thought filled him with a strange sense of elation, one that he didn't entirely understand, but hell, on a day like today, he was going to cling to it for all he was worth.

If he hadn't been Mail, would he ever have known how important that message was? What it really meant? He didn't think so—he probably would have just thought that it was a weird message from his weird best friend. Being Mail let him see so much _more_ of Mello than he had before, and he found himself looking forward to each new revelation. This, _this_ was why he had to be Mail as well as Matt, at least for a while longer, or so he justified to himself.

He wondered why it was so important to him.

He wondered how he would ever be able to stop.

**End Chapter Seven**

**Author's Note:** OKAY, SO LET ME EXPLAIN A BIT HERE. Is this a dark little twist? Fuck yes. Will it remain a major focal point of the story? Not really, no. It'll be hanging out in the background for a while, serving as Matt's motivation in a lot of ways, but we won't have another chapter this explicitly focusing on it for quite a while. Next chapter will definitely be much lighter.

And if you're wondering why I did it… Okay, I think I've mentioned before that a lot of what I write references in some way on issues that I personally have and am currently trying to work through. In this case, I was recently in a relationship with someone who would occasionally threaten suicide to get me to do what he wanted, sometimes vaguely, sometimes not-so-vaguely, and then would be perfectly-fine-everything's-awesome once I complied. Needless to say, it _seriously_ fucked with my head. If anyone reading this is ever in a relationship like this, GET HELP. That shit is not right, and you can try to do what you can to help that person without letting them emotionally blackmail you like this.

Obviously, what Matt is going through here is quite a bit different… but I hope I still managed to capture that same helplessness and confusion in his reaction. And like me, once the danger has passed, he's repressing it, just pretending it didn't happen, because fuck, maybe that was the last time, right? (These are not healthy thoughts, by the way.)

Anyway, TL;DR; next chapter will be posted more quickly and will be less full of dead parents.


	8. Chapter Eight: Date

**Author's Note: ** Chapter Eight! And it's not even too stupidly late! Huzzah! If I write too much here I'll never actually get around to posting the damn thing, though, so let's just get on with it.

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own Matt, Mello, or anything Death Note-related. …except for an in-progress Matt cosplay, because I am a dork and Matt is my spirit animal… .

**Secret Admirer**

**Chapter Eight: Date**

Friday came too quickly for once.

Mello sat at his desk, fidgeting uncomfortably and barely paying attention to the instructor—which was not necessarily odd for him, as he was usually chapters ahead of the rest of the class and didn't really _need_ to concentrate on what the teacher said. He'd long since figured out that this particular teacher taught almost exclusively from the textbook, so even if he missed something, he could look it up later. Though the subject material was interesting to him, the class itself was a breeze and barely deserving of his attention most days.

The _guy_ in this class, on the other hand…

Sy was doodling in his notebook, obviously not paying attention either (though the blond suspected that it wasn't for the same over-achieving reasons), and his eyes kept flicking to the clock every few minutes. At one point, his gaze swept across the room to Mello, and the blond's eyes had immediately snapped back to the front of the room as he tried his best to look like he was actually following along with the lecture. Sy had just smiled and gone back to his drawing, as if the beating of Mello's heart _wasn't_ echoing off the walls of the room like they were at a damn rock concert.

Seriously, did no one else hear that?

Mello wasn't sure what to expect from Sy. The blond had still been chatting with Mail each night after school, so he was _used_ to that particular weirdo by now—and plus, despite the creep-factor, there was something comforting about flirting in a context where no one could see when he was embarrassed or excited or anything else he may not want to be advertising to the world quite yet. But he hadn't spoken to Sy since he'd met him in the library, and he was pretty certain that once they did start talking, he was going to make a complete ass of himself. So, he supposed he had that to look forward to, which was just lovely.

Then again, maybe he didn't. Wasn't it customary to call or at least text someone after asking for their number? Maybe Sy had changed his mind, or maybe he'd heard a few more stories (God, he hoped it wasn't the one with the horse-shoe and the paint thinner…) and decided to keep his distance. Mello glowered at the blank notebook page before him as he considered that. He wouldn't be surprised, of course, and he always had Mail to fall back on, but still, how much would _that_ suck, to have to go crying back to his stalker? Maybe Matt had been right, when he'd found out about Jake Roy's broken nose and told him that he needed to learn to control his temper.

Then again, he could learn always how to control his temper _after_ the rest of the world stopped being such complete fuckwads. That sounded preferable to him.

Absently, he wrote down something that the teacher had scrawled on the board, just to make it look like he wasn't completely spacing out. Not that it mattered much—a few seconds later, the bell rang, announcing glorious freedom, and he gathered his books and leaned down to shove them unceremoniously into his bag.

"Hey," came a familiar voice, and Mello started, banging his elbow against the bottom of the desk. "Ouch, not the most graceful, are you?"

Rubbing at the injured joint, Mello glared at the brunet, his embarrassment trumped by annoyance. Thank God for that—he did not want to be blushing right now. "What do you want?" he snapped.

Sy raised his hands and took a step back, grinning, but still looking somewhat nervous at his tone. Good. He should be. His wrath was swift and cruel. "Hey, I didn't mean to make you hurt yourself," he said gently. "I just wanted to know if we're still on for tomorrow."

Mello blinked, his scowl wavering. So he _did_ still want to go out. Well, that was good… he supposed…

Shrugging, Mello stood and shouldered his backpack. "If you're still game, so am I," he said, trying for nonchalance—like it was a game of chicken. He found himself a bit thrown off, though, by the bright smile directed at him. Shit, was that seriously the effect that he had on people? He must be even hotter than he thought.

"Great!" Sy said, following Mello towards the door. "How about six-ish? If you text me your address, I can swing by to pick you up, too."

Mello nodded, trying to look confident despite the rampant moth infestation in his stomach. Romance, apparently, was both nerve-wracking _and_ disgusting. Who knew? "Yeah, that sounds fine," he said… then paused, thinking about that. Getting picked up sounded like something a chick would do. He may have been new to dating, but he was pretty sure that it was important that he establish early on that he was not going to be the "girl" in this relationship. "Actually, I'll meet you there. Just let me know wherever 'there' is."

"Okay, will do!" the brunet replied, unfazed. "I've gotta get to Calc, so I guess I'll see you then!"

"Yeah, see ya," Mello said, waving him off as he headed to his own class.

As they parted, he wished that his last thoughts weren't "Matt's smile is nicer."

* * *

"So, Sunday."

Matt barely glanced up at him, his eyes fixed on his 3DS as he lounged on his bed. "Yeah?" he asked. "What about it?"

Mello huffed, spinning a little in the desk chair. His textbook was open in front of him on the desk, but he was having trouble concentrating on his work today. Besides, he had remembered a very important fact…

"It's your birthday, dumbass," he reminded the redhead. "A.K.A. the day that the Universe saw fit to create a best friend for me, and lo, it spat forth _you_, because apparently either that's the best it could do or it just has a fucking sick sense of humor."

"Well, you are kind of hard to put up with, Mels. If the Universe had told me beforehand what I was getting into, I may not have taken the job, either," Matt drawled, still clicking away with the slightest smirk on his face. "It was pretty much a bait-and-switch."

"Whatever. You're still my favorite cosmic expectoration, so we've got to do _something_ for your birthday," Mello pointed out. It was always hard to get Matt into a celebrating mood—after all, his birthday fell so closely on the heels of his mother's death, and Mello worried that it would always be slightly tainted by that for him—but he did his damnedest. Mostly he just threatened and bribed until the redhead agreed to something, whether it be a movie night or a special dinner or a game-a-thon. Thus far, the threats and bribery method had not failed him, so he was going to stick to that strategy.

"Yeah, but it falls on Sunday this year," Matt retaliated. "That's your study day. And your hang-with-creepy-detectives day."

"L's not creepy," Mello responded automatically. "And whatever, I'll do my studying later, or before. You can at least come over for dinner. My mom's gonna be cooking a Sunday feast."

Bribery, while not as fun as threats, was usually still pretty effective. Apparently not today, though—Matt just shrugged, not even looking up from his game at the prospect of food.

"Mello, it's no problem, really," Matt said. "I can feed myself."

"Uh huh," Mello said drily, quirking an eyebrow at him. "What did you have for dinner last night, Matt?"

"Uh…" Matt hummed, trying to remember. "A bowl of Cap'n Crunch, a handful of baby carrots, and like… five pudding cups."

Mello stared at him. "You're fucking serious, aren't you?"

"Hey, at least the carrots were healthy, right?" Matt pointed out, his thumbs never ceasing their motions.

"And what about the night before that?"

"Popcorn with cheese on it, and a tomato."

"Okay, what the holy hell? Who the fuck actually considers that a meal? Are you pregnant or something, Matt?" Mello asked, staring at him incredulously. Matt just gave him a lazy grin and snickered.

"Yep, and you're the father," he announced a bit too cheerfully. "You can feel free to pay the child support in GameStop gift cards."

"…You should never be allowed to feed yourself again," Mello said, sighing before fixing him with his best don't-fuck-with-me glare. "You're coming over on Sunday. And that's final. Just… just don't tell my mom how you normally eat, or she may try to adopt you or something."

"Awww, but we could be _brothers_!" Matt exclaimed, cackling gleefully. Mello just shuddered. That was awkward on so many levels. "C'mon, Mels, we could share a room and everything!"

"I'd rather eat a bag of those sugar-free gummy bears that you bought that one time," Mello deadpanned.

"Ouch."

"But you _are_ coming over," the blond said with an air of finality, digging through his backpack for a chocolate bar, because oh Lord did he need it right now… "And if you don't, I will hunt you down like the dog that you are, _drag_ you over at the end of a rope, and tell my mom that you want to convert so that she spends the rest of the night reciting scripture at you."

Ah, sweet chocolate and sweeter threats. He felt better now.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," Matt agreed, and Mello grinned triumphantly. Then the redhead looked up for just a moment to fix him with a soft, slightly embarrassed smile. "Thanks, man. For being a stubborn mofo, I mean."

Mello just nodded, taking a bite out of his chocolate bar and letting it melt on his tongue. Like hell he was going to let his best friend spend his birthday alone. Matt should know better.

"So, wanna watch a movie or something? Or are you just gonna stare at your books all night?"

"Movie sounds good," Mello admitted. "Just not one of those stupid comedies you like. I want to see shit blow up tonight."

"Fucking shocker," Matt said, rolling his eyes behind the lenses of his goggles. He pushed himself off of the bed and began digging through his movie collection for something both of them could agree on, and Mello rolled the desk chair closer so that he could see what the gamer chose and veto accordingly.

Eventually, they chose a superhero movie—enough explosions for Mello, enough "lolz" for Matt, a perfect combination. Propping themselves up with pillows on the bed, the two boys settled in for some mindless entertainment… which, while odd for Mello, whose brain rarely ever shut up, was a welcome reprieve after this week. As Matt grabbed the PS4 controller and clicked over to the DVD, Mello felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out.

He felt his face burn as he looked at the screen. It was text from Sy. Nothing too special, just "_Hey, does Italian sound okay? I know a good place down on Clark Road…_" No declarations of adoration or requests for naked photos, nothing to be embarrassed about per se. Except for the fact that his best friend was sitting about two fucking feet away and he hadn't told him anything about this guy or his date or, oh yeah, the fact that he was a big fag.

Matt just happened to glance up (oh, of _course_ he did) just in time to catch Mello's flustered face, and his brows furrowed with concern. "You okay, man?" he asked, his eyes straying to the phone in Mello's hand. Still too far away to see anything, thank God, but if he leaned a bit closer… like he was doing now… "Everything cool?"

Mello nodded, clicking the lock button on his phone. The screen went dark, hiding the evidence, and he shoved it into the pocket of the sweatshirt he was wearing.

"Just some guy from my psych class," he said carefully, not looking at his friend. If he looked, Matt would know something was up, somehow, that way he always did. He stared fixedly at the TV screen instead, trying to look bored. "Question about the assignment or something. I'll get back to him later."

He could feel Matt staring at him for a moment, and his pulse beat a too-fast rhythm in his ears. But luckily, his gamer was not exactly the pushy sort—with a muttered "Whatever, dude," he pushed play and let the distractions commence.

Mello watched the opening credits play across the screen, uncomfortably conscious of the weight of his phone against his abdomen. He knew that he would have to tell Matt, eventually. He was his best friend, and he would have to find out sooner or later—even Matt wasn't spacey enough to not notice if Mello started making out with another dude in the hallways or something. Probably. But he'd kept it secret for so long already, and he didn't want to ruin their Friday night tradition, and he _really_ didn't want to ruin it before the ritual Yelling of Obscenities at Fictional Characters began…

He'd tell him soon enough. What was one more night?

* * *

The next night, Mello stumbled into his room at just about half-past ten, his head still spinning and his entire body feeling a touch too light. He couldn't stop smiling, but he also kind of wanted to throw up.

Dating… was strange.

True to his word, Sy had texted him the address of a little hole-in-the-wall Italian place, and Mello had gotten there at just a bit past six to find the other boy waiting at a table by the window. He was wearing a black leather jacket—the kind that someone would wear on a motorcycle, which also happened to be the kind that Mello was immediately jealous of—and looking obnoxiously calm and confident. His hair had been… moussed, or something, Mello wasn't gay enough to know for sure, but it stuck up in some sort of bird-like crest. He had looked… good. Really good. Good enough that Mello felt slightly underdressed in his usual skin-tight black jeans and fitted sweatshirt, but from the way the other boy was looking at him all night, he didn't think there were any complaints.

The food was better than Mello had expected. They even had some sort of magical chocolate-mousse-cake-thing that seemed to be made from the finest cocoa and sheer joy, and Sy had laughed as he watched the blond's eyes roll back into his head at the taste. He had joked that usually only women got so thoroughly entranced by chocolate, and Mello had used that as an excuse to steal the rest of the cake away from him, much to the other boy's chagrin.

After that, they had just… driven around a little, in Sy's beat-up old Chevy (though Mello couldn't complain too much about its condition, as he was still stuck borrowing one of his parents' cars). They had talked about themselves and each other, discussed different classes at school, their plans for the future… Sy was planning to go to his father's alma mater, a small liberal arts college about an hour's drive away, apparently just because it would be easy for him to get into, but he really had no idea what he wanted to do with his life beyond that. Mello found that a bit pathetic, but he refrained from saying as much.

Mello, on the other hand, had had his life planned out since the age of eight and had his heart set on the prestigious Wammy University, so he was more than happy to discuss in detail the plans for his own future. He had babbled briefly about how his hero, L, had graduated from Wammy's and how it offered the most intensive classes on profiling and forensics and everything he would need to become a renowned detective, but he cut himself off when he noticed his date's eyes starting to glaze over. He couldn't really blame him—Mello knew he could get a bit long-winded on certain subjects, and L was definitely one of them—but he was still proud of himself for not glaring at or hitting Sy for daring to give him less than his full attention.

Truly, he was maturing as a person.

They had stopped for ice cream at some point, because Sy was being a little bitch about the fact that he only got two bites of their first dessert. Mello had shared a story about the time Matt had tried to eat an entire ice cream cake in one sitting and almost succeeded… His description of the aftermath of that misguided endeavor was sufficiently disgusting that he ended up eating half of Sy's mint-chocolate cone, as well, while his date turned an interesting shade of green. Overall, he had mused as he licked melty goodness from his fingers, the night had been a success for him.

And then Sy had brought him back to his car.

And then he had received his first kiss.

Lying on his bed, Mello touched his fingers to his lips, his face warm and his eyes wide. It had been abrupt, with Sy grabbing him by the wrist as he went to unlock his door, spinning him around, and crushing their lips together. It hadn't been particularly skillful—after all, Mello had been too surprised to respond properly—but it had been passionate and pleasant and Sy had tasted faintly of mint-chocolate, and he already found himself wanting more. Next time, he promised himself, _he_ would initiate it, and he would kiss harder, deeper, until Sy was the one lying on his bed in a daze. He couldn't wait—and he wouldn't have to wait long, since the other boy had already asked him out again for the next weekend.

Grinning to himself, Mello got up long enough to change into sweatpants and a T-shirt before curling up in bed. He had a long day ahead of him—first seeing L, then having Matt over for dinner—and he wanted to rest up so that he could be at his glorious best.

It wasn't until that last wisp of consciousness was slipping away that he realized he had forgotten to write back to Mail today.

**End Chapter Eight**

**Author's End Note:** So, I definitely based Matt's "meals" off of some of my own. I am notorious amongst my friends for horrible eating habits. I should not be allowed to take care of myself. I am a horrible excuse for an adult. Also, if anyone didn't get the sugar-free gummy bear thing, go look up some reviews for that shit. It's good times. Good, horrifying times.

I'm having some issues with writing Sy and his relationship with Mello, but bear with me here. This isn't gonna be one of those deals where he turns out to be an abusive, manipulative jackass or anything, it's just… I want him to be a genuinely good guy, but just… not what Mello wants. On the flip-side, Mello kind of _is_ a manipulative jackass, and at this point he's kind of just trying to get "dating practice" in with Sy. Hopefully that's how it's coming off. If not, let me know, because I'll need to fix some shit going forward.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Drop a review if you can, and I'll see you next time!


	9. Chapter Nine: Perfect

**Author's Note: **So this chapter and the next were actually supposed to be one chapter, but it got obnoxiously long and I had to split it into two. The good news is, we get two chapters of Matt POV! Which you may not be as excited about as I am, but seriously, I love writing as this guy. XD Had to write Mello's family in this one, which wasn't easy and I had to do a lot of rewrites, but I think they came out okay… Meh, good enough, at least.

Thank you as always to my readers, reviewers, and followers! As I always say, "Some people think I don't suck." And isn't that all you really need?

**Disclaimer: **Blah blah blah, I don't own Death Note, blah blah blah, something witty, blah.

**Secret Admirer**

**Chapter Nine: Perfect**

When he woke up on Sunday afternoon, he was eighteen years old and a legal adult, so he did what any new adult would do: he ate a huge bowl of Lucky Charms. After all, what was the point of being an adult if it didn't allow him to eat sugar-coated goodness no matter the time of day?

Never mind the fact that he had already been doing that for the past several years. Today, he was eating Lucky Charms as a _grown-up_, and that was special, right?

After he finished, he rinsed out his bowl and put it in the dishwasher. There was a card waiting on the dining room table for him, with his name in his father's handwriting on the envelope; he opened it, smiling at the cartoon animals on the front. His dad still tried. Even if he couldn't bear to actually be home for his son's birthday, he was still trying, and Matt could appreciate that. Besides, the sizeable check inside was a nice bonus.

Retreating back to his room, Matt hunted his cell phone out from the pile of crap spread across his desk. The little light in the corner was blinking, and he unlocked the screen to see two texts. The first, surprisingly enough, from Near—a quick, plain message wishing him a happy birthday, but he was still proud of the little albino for initiating human contact. The other, of course, was from Mello.

"_Good morning—ah, who am I kidding? Good afternoon, Sunshine! Whenever you manage to drag your eighteen-year-old ass out of bed, let me know. Oh, and happy birthday, jackass."_

Rolling his eyes at the sentiment, Matt tapped the keyboard open. "_Yes, I am a responsible adult like you now, Mello!"_ he wrote back. "_When do I get to learn the secret handshake? Before or after you teach me how to subsist solely on chocolate and rage?"_

A few minutes passed—long enough for him to boot up his computer and load a game to keep him occupied—before his phone buzzed.

"_It's your birthday, so I'll hold back my 'fuck you' for now,"_ he read. _"Heading over to L's now. Want to meet me there, or at my place?"_

Matt thought about that for a moment, then typed back. _"I'll meet you at L's. It's been a while since I've seen your creepy detective."_

"_He's not creepy," _came the too-fast response. Matt could practically see the indignant scowl on his friend's face, and it made him laugh.

"_Dude, I've never seen the guy _blink_. I have, however, seen him eat his weight in frosting," _he typed, hitting send._ "I mean, I know you think he's the Second Coming or something, but damn. Our Lord and Savior is gonna get the beetus before the Rapture comes at this rate."_

"_Just be here at 5, asshole."_

"_Think he'll let me have a piece of his cake since it's my birthday?" _Matt wrote back, just to be obnoxious... not that he was completely kidding. That guy did always seem to have the best cake. He took his sweets _very_ seriously.

"_You can try to take one, but you're likely to lose a hand."_

"_Meh, I can learn to play my games with my toes."_

_ "You're aware that getting weirder in your old age, right?"_

_ "Aware and proud, baby!" _

There wasn't a response after that, and Matt grinned and shook his head. For all the crap that he gave his friend about L's bizarre behavior and Mello's hero worship of him, he did like the detective. The guy was cool, in a weird, socially inept way. Matt could appreciate that. It would be good to see him again.

In the meantime, he popped some Professor Layton into his 3DS to get himself in the proper mood.

* * *

Matt knocked on the door to the L&amp;L Investigations detective agency at just a little before five o'clock. He heard some muffled cursing coming from inside—yep, Mello was definitely in there—and a moment later, the door swung open. Mello, standing on the other side, gave him a bewildered look.

"Critical thinking is the key to success!" Matt announced cheerfully, grinning and adjusting his top hat.

"…Okay, what the fuck are you on?" the blond asked with a sigh of exasperation.

"Nothing, I wasn't sure if they did drug tests here…" Matt said, shrugging, as he stepped inside.

"They're detectives, Matty, not the fucking police."

"Well, now I know for next time, then."

"Uh huh," Mello said, closing the door and giving him the sort of look that said, "I don't care if you're my best friend and it's your birthday, I will _end_ you if you embarrass me in front of my hero." But Matt was already wearing a top hat and goggles, so really, Mello was kind of screwed on that front.

Matt looked around the place as he followed his friend into the main office. The place was as nice as he remembered it—hardwood floors with fancy rugs, well-maintained antique furniture, and plush chairs in the waiting area. Pity about the clutter, but then, that was what Mello was here to help with, and if it gave his friend a way to stay out of trouble one day of the week, hey, who was he to complain? Anyway, it was definitely the kind of place that he could see fancy rich people coming into for help finding their lost purebred lapdog, but he knew that L did much, much more than that.

And if he knew that much in part because he had done a thorough investigation of his own on L's background and work (using some not-entirely-legal methods) when Mello first started these visits, who was to know?

"So, where's Sherlock?" he asked, eyeing a candy dish on the reception desk. Even that was nice, all crystal and shiny. He reached over and grabbed a Jolly Rancher.

"I suppose that would be me," said a voice from one of the other rooms, sounding vaguely amused. "Hello Matt. It's been a while. Oh, and happy birthday."

Matt turned, grinning as his gaze fell upon quite possibly the strangest person he'd ever had the bizarre pleasure of meeting. He was thin and pale, and he stood hunched over, with long, spindly arms and hands shoved into baggy jeans. His hair was a riot of black spikes, as if it hadn't been combed out in days and he'd just rolled out of bed. But the most striking thing about him was his eyes. Coal-black and deep as oceans, they stared at Matt, stared _through_ him, and he could definitely tell how so many criminals ended up faltering beneath the intensity of that stare.

But for him, L just smiled—an expression possibly as disturbing as his calculating gaze, just for different reasons—and pulled one hand out of his pocket, extending it towards Matt. The redhead shook it amiably.

"Hey, L," Matt said. "How's it hangin'?"

"It hangs well," L said, eyeing him curiously. "The top hat is new, is it not?"

Matt reached up to tip his hat at L in his most gentlemanly manner, beaming. "Every puzzle has an answer," he said gleefully, and L tilted his head slightly, like an owl. Somewhere to his right, Mello groaned.

"I suppose that's true," L said agreeably. "How did that computer build end up working for you, by the way? The one that you were mentioning last time you were here?"

"Like a dream, man," Matt answered, a blissful looking crossing his face. He was dimly aware that this was the sort of expression normal guys made over the hot girl in class, but how could anything be hotter than a custom-built computer with a top of the line processor, three monitors, and way more RAM than even he could possibly ever need? "That baby is a freakin' beast. Handles everything I throw at her without breaking a sweat, and she looks sexy as hell doing it."

"I am so very disturbed right now," Mello grumbled, going back to the (inferior) computer in the corner that he had been working at and organizing the massive stack of papers beside it. Matt cackled from the sheer joy of torturing his best friend.

L still looked thoughtful, though, and Matt could practically see the data being calculated and analyzed behind those dark eyes. The man was nearly a computer himself—Matt supposed that that was one of the reasons he didn't mind the detective's company, and why he found him so interesting… But still, he had to wonder what conclusions the man was drawing about him when he got that look on his face, and the thought sent a strange shiver up his spine.

Ah, well. He was sure he'd learn eventually if it was anything important.

Finally, black eyes blinked and turned away from him—calculations complete—to settle on the blond in the corner. "You are just about done now, aren't you Mello?" L asked, and Mello nodded.

"Yeah, there are just a few more files left—it'll be enough to keep Light off your back for a bit, anyway," the blond said, grinning. "But I can come back sometime after school this week, just to finish up, if that's okay."

"Ah, my thanks," L said, and there was a sincere note of gratitude in his voice. From what Matt had heard, this Light guy was kind of a pain in the ass. "For now, go enjoy your afternoon."

"Sure," Mello said, shoving a huge sheaf of papers into his backpack before zipping it up and shouldering it. "I guess I'll see you later, then. Bye, L!"

L waved them off, and Mello led him back out towards the front door. Matt followed obediently, more than happy to get home to Mrs. Keehl's famous Sunday dinner.

"Oh, and Matt?" L called out, and the redhead paused and turned around. The man was staring at him, the corners of his lips still quirked up just slightly in that disturbing manner of his. "Feel free to come back any time, if you'd like."

Matt grinned. "Thanks," he said. "I may just do that."

* * *

"Mom, I'm home!" Mello called as he opened the front door, his voice echoing off of the high ceiling in the foyer. "And I brought Matt with me!"

Matt breathed deeply as he followed his friend in, kicking off his shoes by the door. The place already smelled heavenly, like spices and roast meat and those weird little dumplings that he loved so much. His stomach growled, and he was suddenly very grateful that Mello had talked him into coming over rather than spending the day at home, most likely trying to eat an entire cake by himself just because no one was there to stop him.

And there, coming towards him like a vision, was the cooking goddess herself—a tall, solidly-built woman with a tumble of blond curls, just a shade darker than her son's, and deep brown eyes. She wore an apron over her jeans and sweater, and a familiar rosary around her neck, and she smiled when she saw him, her face lighting up.

"My other son!" she exclaimed, enfolding him in a hug. Matt grinned, hugging back and inhaling the scent of flour and vanilla. There was a charming lilt to her voice, a remnant from the old country, and Matt would always associate that sound and those smells with warmth and light and _home_. "Happy birthday, Matt! Ah, you are an adult now, just like my Mihael! How could we let that happen?"

"Time machine didn't work out," Matt said apologetically as they parted. "I'll keep working at it for you, though."

"I would settle for seeing more of you in the present, you know," she said, chiding without nagging in that way that moms do. "You should come over for more dinners. I miss you, and Mihael is less of a belligerent hellion when you are here."

"Thanks, Mom," the aforementioned hellion grumbled as he looked on, rolling his eyes. "I'm only standing right here."

"Yes, and you haven't yet thrown a tantrum or started complaining, because Matt is here," she said, raising an eyebrow at her son. "Perhaps you would even like to help me by setting the table, since you seem to be in a good mood?"

"I can help!" Matt volunteered, raising a hand enthusiastically.

"Kiss-ass," Mello muttered at him, earning a light smack on the shoulder from his mother.

"Play nice, Misha," she said lightly. Giving Matt one last hug—and reaching up to adjust his top hat, as if that were an everyday occurrence—she turned back towards the kitchen and the all of the amazingness therein. "The roast will be done in five minutes, boys. I expect that will be plenty of time to set the table, yes?"

"Yeah, sure," Mello said, sounding exasperated, but Matt could see the fond smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. It was practically microscopic, probably not noticeable to the average human, but the redhead was pretty well-attuned to his friend's emotions. Like a dog with high-pitched sounds.

Which was why when he slung his arm around Mello's shoulders and said, "Yeah, _Misha_, let's go set the table," he knew that he was about to get a not-so-fond elbow to the ribs. He was practically psychic.

"You know the rules," he said, glaring. "She can call me whatever the hell she wants because she birthed me. You did not birth me, so you may call me 'Mello' or 'Supreme Overlord.' That's it."

"Awww, but Misha sounds so much _cuter_!" Matt gushed, pulling his friend towards the dining room. Mello wasn't fond of his real name, Mihael, or the Russian shortening of that name, and most people didn't know that he had not been born a Mello. As his best friend, Matt was privileged to have that information, and he loved using that privilege to be as obnoxious as possible. "I swear, I can't wrap my tongue around the Russian language _at all_, but the nicknames are freakin' _adorable_!"

"Yeah, and that's why you don't get to use it. _Ever_," Mello stressed, flicking him in the forehead.

"Not even when we're alone?"

"Especially not when we're alone."

"Why 'especially'?"

"No witnesses, it would be too tempting to murder you," Mello said with a shrug. "And then who would fix my computer when it breaks down?"

"Aw, you do love me!" Matt said, laughing gleefully as he grabbed the plates.

Mello gave him a strange look, then opened the cutlery drawer and gazed contemplatively therein. "Ever wonder how much damage you could do to someone with a butter knife?" he asked.

Matt proceeded to shut the hell up.

* * *

Keehl Family Dinner was as good as he remembered it.

Trays of pure ambrosia were laid out on the dining room table, and lest there be any doubt that this feast was in Matt's honor, all of the redhead's favorites were there. There were even enough weird dumplings (which he was told had an actual name, but they would always just be "weird dumplings" to him) that he and Mello didn't have to fight over them. Of course, they fought over them anyway, piling unreal amounts onto their plates as quickly as possible, while Mrs. Keehl smiled indulgently and gently reminded them to eat their vegetables, as well, or they wouldn't get dessert, and her threat was so perfectly 1950's-housewife that Matt had to obey.

Even Mello's father, who was some sort of bigwig international businessman and rarely ever home, showed up halfway through the meal. He gave Matt a warm hug and a "happy birthday" before filling his own plate with whatever scraps he and Mello had left behind. They chattered politely about school and work and Mello's college applications—simple, little things, but the pure Rockwellian nature of it all made Matt smile. Even Mello was behaving and making pleasant conversation, which was a damn miracle. Matt said as much, and got a roll chucked at his head for his trouble.

Then came dessert—and oh gods, what a dessert! A cake with eighteen candles and what seemed like inches of chocolatey frosting, topped with strawberries so perfectly ripe that Matt had to wonder where Mrs. Keehl had found them in February. Mello, predictably, was in heaven, his eyes rolling back into his head as he took a bite from the huge slice he'd cut for himself, and if they had been alone, Matt would have made some seriously fucked-up jokes about the blissful, quasi-orgasmic look on his face. As it was, he just snickered quietly and took a bite of his own… then, realizing just how good it really was, had to stop himself from making a similar expression. It was definitely worth eating his vegetables for, that was for certain.

And just to top it all off, Mr. and Mrs. Keehl had gotten him a present.

He tore excitedly through the shiny blue paper and opened the box beneath, pulling out a tan coat with a faux-fur trim. It was definitely nicer than what he usually wore—but then, what he usually wore was practically falling apart at the seams. But it was more than just its ability to stay together without hasty patch-jobs. It suited him, and it had been chosen for him by people who knew him well enough to recognize that. He loved it immediately.

"Thank you," he said quietly, a wide smile spreading across his face as he stroked the velvety-soft lining.

"Now, I know that we're giving it to you late in the season," Mrs. Keehl started, "but it will be chilly for a few months yet, and there's a bit of room to grow, so you can wear it next winter, too."

Mr. Keehl chuckled as he sipped at his after-dinner tea. "Liza, he's eighteen. I think he's done growing by now."

She arched one delicate eyebrow at her husband. "He is too _skinny_, Maksim," she said adamantly. "He and Mihael both. I've given up on Mihael by now, he has your wretched metabolism, but Matt… Well, a few good dinners could do wonders for him by next winter…"

Mello nudged Matt with his elbow. "Watch out, Matty," he stage-whispered. "She's gonna try to fatten you up. You've read Hansel and Gretel, right?"

"And who would be the witch in this analogy, Misha?" Mrs. Keehl asked sharply, making Mello wince and mutter some half-assed explanation while his father laughed at his misfortune.

Matt, absorbing it all, shrugged into the new coat. It fit perfectly.

Everything was perfect.

And for a moment he wished, with every fiber of his being, that he could hold onto this night forever.

But all dinners had to end sometime.

**End Chapter Nine**

**Author's End Note: ** …dun dun dun, I guess? ^^; Also, for anyone who is reading this and thinking to themselves, "Wow, this bitch knows nothing about Russian names," you would be correct! From what I understand, Misha should be the shortening of Mihael (though hard to gauge since it's kind of a made-up name), but I could be very, very wrong. But seriously… isn't Misha the cutest nickname? Doesn't it make him sound like an adorable kitten or something? Yes. It does. And I find that hilarious, and so does Matt, because he is not an adorable kitten, he is a disgruntled-ass budding sociopath. And his name is Misha. (Someone make this into a children's book, please.)

Anyway, hope you liked it. Part Two of Matt's birthday next time. Please review if you can, and keep reading if you can stand it!


	10. Chapter Ten: Out

**Author's Note: **So, I've moved! And I went to a con! And I'm planning a trip to Malaysia, Singapore, and Japan! And those are my excuses for why I have not been writing recently! :D I'm kind of rushing through the editing on this one just so that I can get it fucking posted, and then I really need to get crackin' on writing some more… Normally, I'm three or four chapters ahead of what I'm posting, but right now I'm like… two ahead. Which worries me. o_o Anyway, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last time—keep that shit up! And thanks for the faves and follows, too!

Random side-note on this one—chapters nine and ten were actually supposed to be one chapter originally, but it got stupidly long so I had to break it up. Hopefully it didn't come out too awkwardly, though. :P

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these fucking weirdos. I'm just havin' fun with them .

**Secret Admirer**

**Chapter Ten: Out**

After dessert (and helping with the dishes, because Mrs. K could be very scary when she thought her boys were slacking), the two of them clambered up the stairs and into Mello's room. Matt promptly claimed the end of the bed with all of the pillows, because it was his birthday and he had that right, no matter what his friend said. Approximately thirty seconds later, he was relegated to the other end of the bed (which was fine, he'd totally wanted that spot anyway, it was closer to the TV), rubbing at the sore spot on his head and watching the MythBusters bust some myths. And explode some shit.

Educational programming was awesome.

"You know, it occurs to me that we could probably make some of this shit happen," Matt said thoughtfully, watching a lawnmower meet its maker. "I mean, you're a crazy genius, and I've got the technological know-how. We could do this, right?"

"Oh God, you're the reason shows like this have that 'Do not try this at home' disclaimer, aren't you?" Mello asked, biting into a post-dinner chocolate bar with an exasperated eye-roll.

"Well, I wouldn't try it at _my_ home," Matt drawled. "You've got that nice big backyard, though…"

"No."

"I'm just saying—"

"Let me rephrase: _Fuck_ no, Jeevas."

Matt pouted, turning his eyes away from the screen to stare pitifully at his friend. "You're no fun anymore, Mels."

"If by 'no fun' you mean 'a good friend who has a vested interest in your continued survival,' then yes, I'm the least fun motherfucker around," Mello deadpanned.

"But it's my _birthday_!" Matt protested, with just a hint of whine in his voice. "I let you do fun stuff on _your_ birthday! Can't we at least blow up a piñata or something?"

Mello gave him an incredulous stare, then sighed. "You want a present, don't you?" he asked flatly.

Matt's eyes lit up, and he shifted into a kneeling position on the bed, facing away from the explosions on the TV and towards his friend. "Well, it would be rude to ask—"

"So instead you just threaten to blow up my yard?"

"—but now that you mention it…" he said, grinning and ignoring his friend's comment in favor of staring expectantly at him. Mello shook his head, pushing himself off of the bed (Matt immediately moved to claim the pillows for his own, of course) and going over to his closet. He dug a GameStop bag—festively tied with a blue ribbon in a truly minimalist wrapping job—out from the mess, and tossed it onto the bed.

"Here ya go," he said, flopping back onto the bed and trying half-heartedly to shove Matt out of his spot with one foot. "Good job surviving another year. I'll be shocked if it happens again."

"Thanks, Mello!" Matt exclaimed cheerfully, untying the ribbon and pouring his prizes out in front of him. Mello had gotten him the new Saints Row game—pretty much the next best thing to blowing shit up in real life, really. There was also a Triforce pendant on a leather cord, which he immediately donned, and a pack of "Energy Gummy Bears," which sounded like a brilliant/horrible idea that he couldn't wait to test out.

"You are the best freakin' friend ever, you know that?" Matt asked, compromising on the pillow issue by settling down next to his friend, one arm wrapped around his shoulders in a half-hug. He used his other hand and his teeth to tear through the plastic wrapping on his game to get to the booklet inside—from what he'd heard, the ridiculousness level of this game was even higher than the last. As god intended.

"Yeah, well, remember that the next time TV gives you horrible ideas," Mello said, shifting uncomfortably next to him. The blond wasn't really the physical type—unless it was the fist-to-face sort of physical—but Matt was, and he wanted to express his appreciation properly. Mello could deal with it.

"Mm," Matt hummed in agreement, flipping through the insert. "You know dude, this was probably the wrong game to give me if you wanted me to not get bad ideas… Ooooh, look, there's an armchair with Gatling guns! Can I have one of those?"

"Shit, are you serious?" Mello asked, incredulous. He leaned closer to look over his shoulder. "Huh. Look at that. Luckily, I saved the receipt…"

"Oh, I don't think so!" Matt laughed, twisting away as Mello lunged for the game case.

"It's okay, Matty," Mello said as he grasped ineffectually at his gift, a slightly crazed gleam in his eye. "I'll get you something else—maybe that Nintendogs crap, the one with the fucking Chihuahuas?"

"Blasphemer!" Matt exclaimed, giving his friend an affronted look. "One does not simply return a video game! I respect your religion, man—try to give me the same courtesy."

"Did you seriously just compare Catholicism to a game where Satan is a main character?"

"…Isn't Satan kind of a main character in the Bible, too?"

Mello gave him a bewildered look, then sighed and settled back against the headboard, defeated. "I actually cannot argue with that," he muttered, shaking his head.

Matt laid his head on Mello's shoulder, staring up at him from beneath red bangs and giving him his best pout and his biggest eyes. "So I can keep the game, right?" he asked. He even batted his eyelashes a bit, just for effect.

"...If I see any signs of weaponized furniture, I'm confiscating it immediately," Mello told him flatly.

"Deal!" Matt crowed happily, throwing both arms around his friend and squeezing tightly. Mello scowled and turned red, but didn't push him away. Matt was duly impressed—normally, the blond demon would have caused him some serious pain by now. He must be _maturing_ or something. Matt had heard that that was a thing that could happen to people, but somehow, he had never pictured it happening to Mello, with his impossibly short fuse and his disturbingly creative retaliations. The fact that it seemed to be happening now was more than a little strange and surprising to Matt, but…

But Mello did feel nice in his arms, didn't he?

Matt's heart pounded in his ears, his eyes going wide behind the protective shield of his goggles, and he immediately tried to shut down that train of thought before he got a chance to fully process it. That sort of thought was too deep, too heavy, and as with all such thoughts—thoughts about the future, thoughts about his father, thoughts about… other things—he would avoid it like the plague. That was how he had survived this long with his sanity (partially) intact, after all.

Shaking his head, he released his friend from the death-grip-hug he'd inflicted upon him and shifted back into a sitting position against the headboard, but he kept one arm around Mello's shoulders. He tried to ignore the slight flutter in his chest when the blond still didn't try to dismember him. Instead, Mello just fidgeted awkwardly, staring fixedly at the TV screen, his scowl now softened to more of an annoyed pout. Matt would have thought it was cute, if he were allowing himself thoughts like that.

Maybe Mello was right, he mused, trying to force himself to relax. Maybe he did get too invested in his games… and playing the secret admirer with Mello was a game of sorts, after all. Or at least, it had started that way.

And he always did have a bad grasp of the line between fantasy and reality.

Luckily, the people on TV were doing something intricate involving duct tape, and that was as good a distraction as any. Matt soon felt those worries, that would-be insight, melting away beneath the warm light of mindless entertainment. Blessed, sweet ridiculousness washed over him, and he let himself get absorbed in the experiments, his mind working on ways to replicate them, and he practically forgot about the boy beside him.

Until…

"Hey, Matty?"

The voice was unexpected, quiet, and very un-Mello-like. The gamer looked away from the TV, raising an eyebrow at the tone. The blond was still staring fixedly at the TV screen, his jaw tensed and his hands curled into fists, like he was frightened of something but was too proud to say it. It was odd, seeing him like that, and slightly disturbing. Matt wasn't sure if he could remember ever seeing Mello look this uncomfortable.

"I… I have something to tell you," he said slowly. "And you may want to be a bit further away from me when I say it, okay?"

Matt gave him a strange look. "You… have scabies?" he asked hesitantly.

"What? No!" Mello said, eyes finally breaking away from the TV screen to give him a startled look.

"Bubonic plague?"

"No!"

"Walking corpse syndrome?"

"…Is that really a thing?"

"Yeah, but I don't think it's contagious."

"Well, the answer is still no."

"Well then, I'm staying right the crap where I am," Matt said stubbornly, nudging Mello's leg with his knee just to make a point. Mello glowered.

"Matty, this is serious," he said.

"So am I," the redhead responded, shrugging. "Look, dude, whatever it is, it's obviously bothering you, so I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

Mello's cheeks turned pink, and he looked away again. He rubbed his hands on his jeans, and Matt frowned, wondering what could have him so nervous.

"I, uh…" he started, then paused, taking a deep breath. "Look, some stuff has happened recently that I didn't tell you about, and I came to some major realizations that may have some pretty serious consequences at school and, shit, in _life_, and you're my best friend and it's kind of important, so I just wanted you to know that… I guess I'm gay."

As the stream of words rushed over him, too quickly for him to process right away, Matt's first thought was 'Aren't I supposed to be the babbler in this relationship?'

A close second was, 'Shit.'

Mello, who just a moment ago could barely look at him, was staring intently now, a slightly wild look in his eyes, every muscle in his body was tensed as if he were ready to jump from the bed and _bolt_ at the slightest sign of trouble. Matt could tell, because he knew his best friend, and he could also tell that it was sheer force of will keeping him there. It was impressive, but then, Mello always was.

And Matt realized, not for the first time in his life and probably not for the last, that he was shit at foresight. How had he not thought ahead to how he would deal with this confession? Sure, he already knew that Mello liked guys, and he already knew that he had no problems with it, but Mello didn't _know_ he knew… And he couldn't say _how_ he knew, or Mello would get pissed and probably destroy something he loved. Like his new video game. And Matt had already _bonded_ with that game.

Luckily, crappy foresight or no, he was still kind of a genius. And as a genius, he was able to discern the best possible response in a very small amount of time.

"Okay," he said, nodding. "Cool."

Yep. Goddamn genius.

Mello blinked. "That's it?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Uh… Should there be more?" Matt asked back, tilting his head a bit.

"I guess I kind of thought there would be, yeah," Mello grumbled, apparently annoyed. Leave it to Mello to get annoyed that his coming out went too easily—some people were just never happy. "Questions or something, at least."

Matt shrugged. "Well, I kind of already expected it," he said carefully. "I mean, have you _seen_ you?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Jeevas?" Mello asked, blue eyes flashing.

"…I would like to use my birthday status to pretend that I did not just say that last sentence out loud."

"That's a safe decision."

"I certainly thought so, yes."

"So you really just… don't care?" Mello asked, a note of relief in his voice now, buried somewhere under his usual gruffness, but still there. It made Matt smile.

"Mels, when the fuck have I ever given any shits about something like that?" Matt asked bluntly. He gave his friend's shoulders a little squeeze, just for reassurance. "It doesn't change anything. You're still the guy who let me use his crayons. Still the guy who beats people up when they mess with my nerdy ass. Still the guy who… well, beats _me_ up on occasion, but not as badly as the other guys, so for some ungodly reason I keep you around." Matt paused for a moment there, then shook his head. "Huh. Weird. Anyway, point is, I don't have the energy to waste on breaking in a new friend, and I've gotten kind of attached to you anyway, so we're still good. You know?"

Mello rolled his eyes, but there was a slight smile hovering around the edges of his mouth. "Thanks, man."

"Any time, dude."

Mello hesitated. "There's more," he continued after a long moment. "There's… this guy…"

_Fuck_.

"Ah?" Matt said articulately, wincing and hoping that his voice didn't crack as much as he thought it did on that one syllable. "That… I did not know."

"Yeah, well, that one's relatively new," Mello said, his face going red again. It wasn't just with embarrassment, though. Holy shit, Mello was blushing like a fucking schoolgirl, over some guy he barely knew, except for the fact that _oh yeah it was his best friend_. "But it seems to be going well so far, so…"

"Anyone I know?"

"I don't think so," Mello said with a shrug. "But he's pretty cool. You'd probably like him."

Mello would be wrong on that front—he very much did _not_ like himself right now. This was exactly why he _should_ have ended things after that first message, or at the latest, the second. God _damn_ it, how could he have been so stupid? How could he have let things escalate this far? Now, his best friend was finally trusting him with the very information that he'd already gleaned as Mail, and Matt was going to have to go and ruin that by admitting that there _was_ no guy, it was just Matt, being a creepy Internet stalker, and Mello would be pissed and that would be the end of the new, happier, less _violent_ Mello that he'd been trying so hard to keep, and…

And then, through the fog of panic that was slowly spreading through his mind, Matt heard the strangest words…

"His name's Sy, and he's in my psych class—you know, the one that you were too much of a dumbass to take with me? We went on a date last night, and it seemed to go pretty well… Anyway, I just thought you should know before everyone else at school finds out."

What. The. _Fuck_.

"Matty?" Mello asked, staring at him strangely. He'd been quiet too long, Matt realized. Time moved differently when one's brain was imploding, apparently. Snapping himself out of it, he tried to force his brain to form words.

"You're… dating someone?" he asked stupidly.

Mello rolled his eyed. "Well, yes, that would be what 'we went on a date' would imply," he said. "What, you think I'm undateable or something?"

"No!" Matt protested, startled, his brain working as quickly as it could to find a suitable response. "No, I just… wasn't expecting it… I mean, I guess I have trouble imagining you _dating_. How did you find the time? Did you have to bring a textbook with you, so it wouldn't infringe upon your normal ten hours of daily study-time?"

Mello elbowed him in the ribcage. "Jackass," he muttered. "I don't study _that_ much. I find time to waste with _you_, after all."

"Yes, and there are often textbooks involved! And flashcards! And other very dorky things!"

"Still," Mello continued, ignoring his logic, as if Matt had never spoken, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Just wanted to see how it went first. I… I hope this isn't too weird for you..."

Matt paused at that, then sighed. There was just the slightest note of anxiety in Mello's voice, subtle enough that it wouldn't be noticeable to someone who hadn't spent too damn much time with him, and he knew he would have to put his own confusion on hold so that he could reassure his friend. "Nah, man. We're good."

Monosyllabic though his response was, it made Mello smile—that brilliant smile, the rare one that Matt had only seen a few times before, without the cruel edge that sometimes seemed to be inherent in all things Mello. It was the smile that meant he was truly happy.

Matt was suddenly glad that he hadn't fucked things up with the truth.

"Thanks, Matty," Mello said, and he actually leaned closer against the gamer, his shoulder coming flush against Matt's side. It was strange and surreal, and any other night it would have thrilled him to have the blond willingly initiate contact—though why that could be, he didn't want to think about—but tonight it just felt… wrong. "You don't suck, you know that?"

"That's what they tell me," Matt said, nodding sagely.

"Happy birthday, Matt."

"Thanks, dude."

They went back to watching TV, silence between them broken only by the usual bad jokes and worse ideas. But inside Matt's head, Mello's words themselves, slowly, slowly gaining meaning.

Mello was dating someone else.

Which meant he couldn't date Mail.

Matt was was off the hook—he would never have to explain to Mello that he had lied to him, that his love interest was a work of fiction and a hastily-made Gmail account. He would not have to face Mello's rage and the poorly-concealed hurt that would undoubtedly result from that confession. Everything would be okay.

But god… why did it feel like his heart was being torn out of his chest?

**End Chapter Ten**

**Author's End Note: **OH SNAP. That just happened. XD As with many aspects of my stories, part of this was loosely based on my own experience: when I came out as gay/bi (jury's still somewhat out on that one—higher on the Kinsey scale, at least) to my big brother, I was on the verge of tears, shaking, barely able to talk… and he was just like, "Yeah, I know." ^^; If only it were so simple all the time… Anyway, I'm not gonna make too big of a deal about Mello's sexuality within the context of this world—like, I'm sure that in reality, there could very well be a lot more backlash to being a gay guy in high school, but for the purpose of this story… I just don't want to clutter it up with too much drama, you know? There are enough sources of drama without me throwing that shit in. So, for now, let's just assume that everyone at school is too chicken-shit scared of Mello to say shit about him being gay.

Anyway, that's it for now! Thanks for reading, please review if you can—I like that shit! :3 Later!


	11. Chapter Eleven: Meeting

**Author's Note: **So, I have a three week trip abroad coming up (leaving next Sunday), and I've been crazy busy planning that, so I kind of… forgot to update? ^^; Ehhh… sorry about that… I'm hoping to update next weekend before I leave, but no promises. Oh, and thanks for all of the reviews last time, guys—there were, I think, more than usual, and they were also strangely enthusiastic, which is freakin' awesome. I guess that was a decent chapter, huh? XD And to FanfictionWomanForever—fuck, I actually did consider taking you up on your offer of fanart in exchange for a quicker chapter (because holy shit, I've never had someone offer to draw me fanart before, that was great), but… I just couldn't. I was kind of in a rut, couldn't justify posting. I'm sorry. But if you want to throw me a one-word prompt or something, I'll add that to my List o' Shit to Write. It most likely won't be done quickly, but hey. I like prompts.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Death Note or any of its creepy, socially fucked up characters.

**Chapter Eleven: Meeting**

Apparently, dating was difficult.

Mello had kind of expected as much, but in practice it was just… obnoxious. And it wasn't just the actual dating part, either. First off, there had been the purely logistical crap—coming out to Matt, and then to his parents. The former had taken it remarkably well, and the latter, though surprised, had more or less accepted it. Though Mello was fairly certain that his father thought he was going to get raped. The normally-composed man had kept sputtering warnings about "being safe" over and over again, and there had been a box of condoms waiting on his bathroom counter the next morning, much to Mello's mortification. Still, better that than being disowned, which, in a Catholic household, had been an area of some concern for him.

Then, there had been telling Mail. While Mello really didn't give any shits about what most of his peers thought about his sexuality—if they had a problem, they could either deal with it quietly or Mello could kick their asses for them—he knew that, supposedly, he and Mail went to the same school. Given that said school could be a vicious rumor mill and that teenagers in general seemed to naturally tend towards gossip and drama, Mello figured that it was safer and more courteous to inform Mail himself before he could find out second- or third-hand. He had sent him an email on Monday afternoon, agonizing over what to write for a good while before deciding to just be as direct about it as possible. After all, wasn't that what Mail had come to expect of him?

Still, Mello had enjoyed talking to him, and some part of him didn't want to hurt him, to scare him off completely.

After just a few minutes, his computer had "blipped" and Mello had anxiously opened the response that had come through.

_"Damn, I guess it was only a matter of time," _Mail had written back._ "A sex god like you can't be on the market for too long, right? That's what I get for waiting, I guess. Next time, I'll know to just suck it up and throw myself to the wolves. Or, in this case, the Dating Gods. Anyway, hope he's worthy of you. If not, or if you want to talk sometime, just hit me up—I don't mind being a consolation prize."_

Mello had rolled his eyes, relieved and amused. The guy really did have no pride. But for better or worse, that was no longer Mello's problem.

What _was_ his problem, however, was the handsome brunet staring expectantly at him, the textbook in front of him apparently just for show.

And that, it seemed, was the most obnoxious thing about dating—the hovering, the expectations, the _assumption_ that he would spend time with another person whether he actually wanted to or not, when he obviously had better things to do. It was annoying as hell, and it had Mello gritting his teeth already.

"You're staring again," he said tightly. "Stop it." He didn't look up from his own book. He didn't want to reward this sort of behavior and risk encouraging it. He found himself thinking that he didn't have time for this, dammit, he had a university to get into and who did this guy think he was that he could just—

"Can't help it," Sy said, grinning and propping his chin on his hand. "You're very sexy, you know."

…Damn, this guy was good.

Mello smirked, finally tearing his eyes away from the words of Carl Jung to look up at the other boy. "I do know," he said. "But thank you for the reminder. Now stop it."

Sy shrugged helplessly. "Can't, it's physically impossible!" he lamented. "It'll be a while before the 'Holy shit, I'm actually _with_ that' phase is over, and until then, the gravitational force of your hotness will simply be too much for me. I'm sorry, I don't make the rules."

"Well then, break the rules. Be a rebel."

"We don't all want to watch the world burn, Mello."

"Huh, is that why they don't let me have matches anymore?" the blond mused, turning back to his book.

"You know, we should go out for lunch sometime," Sy said, ignoring his comment. Mello wondered if he should be annoyed by that. "Some of my buddies and I go out during lunch block sometimes, maybe skip an afternoon class… You could come along sometime, you know. Or we could go alone."

"Pass," Mello said dismissively. "Lunch is prime study time. The library is usually empty."

"Because all the sane kids are eating?"

"I don't have time for sanity," Mello muttered absently… and then heard a familiar laugh coming from behind him, a laugh that made his heart skip.

"Is that what is it?" Matt drawled, grinning as he pulled out a chair and plopped down next to Mello. He set a protein bar, an apple, and a bottle of orange juice on the table. "Here I thought the tight pants had altered blood flow to your brain just enough to cause aggression, irrational behavior, and the occasional bout of psychosis."

Mello rolled his eyes. "What're you doing here, Jeevas?" he asked. His tone was short, but he was genuinely curious. And surprised. Matt hated the library. It was too quiet, too still for his spastic brain to function comfortably.

"And why are you commenting on the tightness of his pants?" Sy piped up, blue eyes narrowed slightly.

Matt blinked, turning to Sy as if he had just realized that he was there… which, in all fairness, was probably exactly the case. Matt was not the most socially-aware person in the world, and he had probably just assumed that Mello had been talking to himself like a crazy person. Bastard. "Oh. Shit. Uh… You must be the guy, right?"

"Sy," the brunet responded, nodding. He looked pleased that Matt knew who he was, but he was still wary, uncertain.

"I'm the best friend," Matt said, chuckling awkwardly and fiddling with his goggles.

"More like sidekick," Mello corrected. "And a shitty one, at that."

Sy's eyes lit up, and he smiled widely, relieved. "Oh! You're _Matt_," he said, back to his normal, friendly self. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Try to only believe approximately half of it," Matt cautioned. "Mello's view of the world is slightly skewed."

Sy laughed. "I've noticed."

"Sitting right here," Mello deadpanned. "Know where one of you sleeps. Can withhold certain things from the other. Just a friendly reminder."

"I find it… refreshing," Sy said quickly, straightening as if he were in trouble with a teacher, making Mello smirk. That was a good sign. The more quickly he learned not to fuck with Mello, the easier both their lives would be.

"Yeah, well I find it fucked up," Matt said, shrugging, but that was okay. Mello had long since given up on teaching him. "But anyway. Didn't mean to interrupt your study date. I'm just here to make sure Mello eats."

Well, that was odd. "Seriously?" Mello asked, his brow furrowed. "I always skip lunch. You know that."

"Yeah, but you missed breakfast this morning, too," Matt explained. He pushed the juice and protein bar closer to the blond. "Which means you've probably eaten nothing but chocolate all day, which means you're that much more likely to die an early death of insulin shock, and you know how I hate trying to break in new friends. Hence, noms."

Mello blinked. "And how the hell would you know that I missed breakfast?" he asked. Not that Matt was wrong—it was just weird as hell that he _wasn't_.

"I just do," the gamer said simply, shrugging. "It's my super-power. Deal with it."

"That's an oddly specific super-power," Sy interjected, giving Matt an odd look and making him snicker.

"It's from years of being exposed to Mello-waves," Matt explained cheerfully. "The low-grade radiation that is emitted _only_ by Mello. Scientists have yet to pinpoint the exact nature of the radiation, but side effects include chocolate cravings and Mello-specific psychic powers. True story."

"Huh," Sy said, looking pensive. "I guess I'll have to watch out for that…"

Mello just glared at his friend, refusing to play into his game. "Matt, I know you really _wish_ you had psychic powers, but you know you don't, right?"

Matt sighed and crossed his arms on the table, laying his head on top of them like it was such a huge effort to explain with the truth, rather than with some crazy story. "Fiiine," he said, drawing out the word and adding just a touch of whine. "You were late getting to my place this morning, which you never are, so I figured you probably overslept. When you oversleep, breakfast is the first thing you skip to make sure you still get us both to school on time. Because god forbid your hair not look perfect for one day or something. You're kind of a girl sometimes, you know that?"

Mello tried to ignore that comment. Leave it to Matt—doesn't notice where he is half the time, but notices the slightest hiccup in Mello's schedule. It was sweet, really, in that uniquely Matt way… which is to say, bordering on freakish. Still, Mello couldn't help the little flutter in his stomach when he thought of his normally-clueless best friend paying such close attention to him.

"You really do need to get a life, Matty," the blond muttered, shaking his head.

"Nah, too much effort," Matt responded flippantly.

"But keeping tabs on my eating habits isn't?"

"Well, you're predictable as fuck, so… pretty much, yeah," Matt said, then sat back up, stretching his arms above his head. "Anyway, I should get going, I guess… Leave you to your studying or making out or whatever you guys were doing before I got here." Mello glared at his friend for that, but Matt ignored it admirably. "Oh, and new guy, don't let him push you around too much, okay? He's not as psychotic as he seems."

"Matt…" Mello said warningly, but Sy just laughed.

"Don't worry about that," the brunet said, winking—actually _winking, _like some kind of fucking Casanova—at Mello. "Even with all of the crazy, I happen to think I'm a very lucky guy."

Matt nodded, looking contemplative. His eyes, too, were on the blond. "Yeah," he agreed. "You are."

Mello, duly embarrassed, scowled and stared fixedly at his book, not really seeing the words. It was strange, having this much attention on him—attention that didn't require him to block a punch or come up with an alibi, anyway. The guy he was dating and the guy he was still (more than) half in love with, sitting together, talking about him… How had he let this happen, again?

"But just a heads-up," Matt continued, turning back to Sy, "if you do anything stupid… Well, I can't threaten to kick your ass, and Mello will probably cover that part on his own anyway. But what I _will_ do is find you on every social media site I can think of, hack your accounts, and make your life a living hell. Fair warning."

The redhead said it all in a calm tone, almost bored, like he was talking about a class assignment or the weather. Mello had to smirk, especially when he saw Sy's face, eyes wide and flickering back and forth between the two of them uncertainly.

"Uh… can he do that?" he asked Mello, a note of disbelief in his voice. Mello shrugged.

"Probably," he said. "You remember that time all of the desktop backgrounds in the computer lab were changed to Playboy pinups for a week, and somehow got locked that way so that none of the teachers could figure out how to fix it? That was all Matty."

"But you can't prove it," Matt added automatically. "I was nowhere near them when it happened. Seriously."

Sy, normally so self-confident, looked dumbfounded and slightly terrified. As God intended.

Then Matt grinned, and clapped a hand onto Sy's shoulder. The shift was abrupt, and seemed to only confuse Sy further, rather than reassure him, which was probably exactly what Matt intended. "Nice meeting you, dude," he said. "Do me a favor and make sure he eats, okay? He gets cranky when he's hungry. And then I have to pull him off of people before he does too much damage. And then, somehow, _I_ end up getting hit in the face. What the fuck, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Sy said, still slightly flabbergasted. "I'll do that. Thanks."

"Cool. See you around."

And with that, Matt left, leaving Mello to his books and snacks. As soon as the redhead had disappeared, Mello sighed and gave in, opening the protein bar and taking a bite. He grimaced—the fake chocolate flavor was never even remotely comparable to actual chocolate, practically a crime against cocoa, but at least Matt had tried. And he _knew_ how much Matt hated trying at anything. He owed it to him to make sure that effort was not in vain.

Sy was watching him eat, looking thoughtful. "He notices a lot about you, doesn't he?" he asked after a long moment.

Mello nodded, his heart constricting with a painful twinge. "Yeah," he said, hiding a scowl as he looked down at his book again. "He's a good friend like that."

* * *

After school, Mello said goodbye to Sy—a process which involved lips and tongue and a secluded corner, and one that Mello was very pleased to find he was getting better at—but declined his offer of a ride home. Matt was waiting for him on the school steps, and Mello pretended he didn't notice the disappointed look on Sy's face when he abandoned him for the redhead. Matt, for his part, was as oblivious as usual and just smiled and waved at the brunet as he and Mello walked off together.

"So, your boyfriend seems nice," Matt said after a few minutes of walking in silence. Mello couldn't help but smirk—leave it to Matt to be so nonchalant about it. Even if he saw the elephant in the room, he just assumed it was part of the décor. Mello had always loved—or _appreciated_, rather, that was a safer word—that about him.

"Oh please, Matty, one date does _not_ make him my boyfriend," the blond said dismissively. At least, he didn't _think_ it did… Mello frowned. What exactly were the rules on that? He didn't want to admit to not knowing, but… Fuck. He should probably figure that out.

"Really?" Matt asked, looking surprised. "He seemed really into you. Like… _really_ into you."

Mello blushed fiercely and shot his friend a glare. "Don't be weird, Matt," he warned. The redhead put up his hands, as if in surrender, a placating smile on his face.

"What, it's not like that's a _bad_ thing, right?" he asked. "I mean, isn't that kind of the point of the whole dating thing? That he likes you, and vice versa?"

Mello paused, considering Matt's words. Honestly, he hadn't given too much thought to it—he had just been so focused on figuring everything out the mechanics of dating that he somehow hadn't really considered the actual _emotional_ component. He wasn't even really sure what had attracted him to Sy in the first place, beyond just the basic fact that he was there and interested. Sure, the guy was good-looking—what Matt would call "bangable"—and he sure as hell knew how to make Mello's heart race when they were making out. He had proven to be a decent person, too, which Mello had found to be a rarity, and he wasn't a complete imbecile, which was always important. But there should be more than just that, right? More than just being there and not being a hideous, moronic asshole? More than just fulfilling Mello's desire to prove that he was dateable?

Well, there was also the fact that he proved an excellent distraction from the massive crush he had on his best friend. Maybe that school counselor he'd been sent to back in freshman year had been right, Mello mused—maybe he _was_ too cold and manipulative. Shame that the guy had quit after just three sessions with him. He could have used a bit more of that sort of insight right about now.

"Yeah, I guess so," Mello said vaguely, then gave Matt a curious look. "What do you think of him?"

Matt hummed a little, thinking. "He's okay," he said finally, great orator that he was. Mello raised an eyebrow at him, making Matt chuckle sheepishly. "Ah, specifics? He seems nice enough. He's got good hair… And he seems to like you."

"Thank you, for those 'specifics,'" Mello said sarcastically, raising his fingers into little air-quotes. "And I do believe you already covered the fact that he likes me, O Insightful One."

"Yeah, but it's more than just _liking_, I guess," Matt said contemplatively. "I mean, he was kind of hitting on you like he was trying to pick you up, trying to be all charming even though he's already dating you... It was weird."

"So what, it's weird that someone wants to be charming to me?" Mello asked, half-jokingly.

"It's not _that_, it's just…" Matt trailed off, making some vague gesture in the air with his hands. "Actually, you know what? Yeah, it is. Shit. I mean, it's good, you deserve it, but it's just _weird_. I don't trust people who act that smooth, you know? And normally people are scared of you, but he isn't, is he? He's making an effort, and not just an effort to get away. It's different. It's weird."

"Yeah, I guess it is," Mello mused. The guy had a point—a slightly paranoid point, but a point nonetheless. And Mello would be lying if he said he hadn't wondered what Sy's interest in him was (beyond the obvious fact that he was sex on legs), but he had just assumed the other boy was some kind of masochist and moved on. "But it's a good weird, right?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"Well, what the fuck do I know, Mels?" Matt asked with a helpless little shrug. "Shit's new to me, you know."

"Plus you're a paranoid shut-in with no social skills," Mello pointed out.

"Yeah, plus that," Matt agreed readily, making Mello grin. "I'm sure that I'm way off base. He's probably just a nice guy, and I'm freaked out because I thought those were an endangered species. But…"

"But…?"

Matt was quiet a moment, his mouth set in a firm line, unwontedly serious. Mello fidgeted uncomfortably, shifting the weight of his backpack from one shoulder to the other as his too-goofy best friend fixed him with a too-sober stare. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Mels," he said, his voice almost pleading.

Mello blinked. "Should I even point out the ridiculousness of that?" he asked. "You know what I can do to him if he fucks with me, right?"

Much to Mello's relief, Matt's seriousness melted away at that. The redhead laughed. "Well, not really," he admitted. "My mind isn't quite fucked up enough to figure out everything you're capable of. Plus, I figure it'll make it easier to deny when the cops come looking for you."

"Remember, we were watching movies together _all night_," Mello said firmly. "Avengers marathon. My whereabouts were totally accounted for."

"A perfect alibi," Matt agreed. Mello nodded, and they lapsed into an easy silence for the next few minutes, just walking together. As they always had. It was good to know that some things didn't change.

"So… You think you're okay with the whole Sy thing now?" Mello asked as Matt's house drew closer.

"Yeah, I'm okay with it," Matt said, grinning and reaching over to poke Mello in the cheek. "I'm probably just getting all protective because my little Mello is growing up, you know?"

"Wanna lose that finger, Jeevas?"

The finger retracted, and Matt gave a nervous chuckle. "Seriously, though, Mels," he said, his eyes staring at Mello from behind orange lenses, a warm smile on his face. "I'm happy for you. You deserve good things like this. You deserve to have someone who makes you happy."

Mello stared back at him, his face heating up with some combination of anger and embarrassment at those words. Fuck. Didn't Matt know that _he_ made him happy? Way happier than some random dude who hit on people in libraries ever could? Especially when he smiled at him like that, like he was the most important person in the world?

But he couldn't say any of those things, so instead he just said, "Don't be such a sap, Matty."

And as they came up to Matt's house and he waved goodbye to his friend, he found himself hoping that dating Sy would start to become more rewarding and less obnoxious soon. Very soon.

Because hell, he really needed the distraction.

**End Chapter Eleven**

**Author's End Notes: **Not too happy with this chapter (too much dialogue, too all over the place), but Mello POV chapters are harder for me anyway, so I guess that's to be expected… But I needed Matt to meet Sy, and I needed Mello to be having trouble dealing with being in a romantic relationship… Anyway! Hope you enjoyed it. Please review if you get a chance, it makes my day at work infinitely better when I get a review. Thanks for reading, guys—later!


	12. Chapter Twelve: Acceptance

**Author's Note: **So, I'm not dead yet! …Though some of you may want to kill me… o_o Life is… weird, right now. I'm not giving up on this yet, but I really need to get my shit together, and I guess that's all I'll say here. Anyway, hope you enjoy, please don't maim me~

**Disclaimer: **Nothing has changed in the past three months—I still don't own Death Note.

**Secret Admirer**

**Chapter Twelve: Acceptance**

"Matty, my letter from Wammy's came in today! I got in!"

Matt grinned as he heard his best friend's voice through the phone, sounding even more jubilant than he had that one day that Near was out sick with the flu. And with good reason, too—Matt knew how long Mello had been aiming for Wammy University. Hell, he could remember tuning the blond out when he used to talk about it during recess way back in elementary school. Mello's Wammy obsession had been a constant in his life—now that his friend had finally achieved that goal, he was almost sad that it was over. Truly, this was the end of an era.

How would he ever pass the time without listening to Mello prattle on about how this project or that extracurricular activity would affect his chances of getting in? It would be a harsh transition, indeed, but somehow, he would get through it.

"Congratulations, Mello!" Matt said. "Thank God, too—I don't know how I would have dealt with your bitching if they hadn't accepted you."

"Fuck you, Jeevas," the blond replied, but there was a distinct lack of malice in it. "Like they could possibly have rejected _me_. Wammy's _is_ a school for geniuses, after all—that means that the admissions staff is adept at spotting people like me. They aren't idiots."

"Of course," Matt agreed, though he knew that it had been worrying Mello ever since he'd sent in his application a few months ago. Even with the excellent letter of recommendation from L, one of the school's most prestigious alumni, he and Mello had both known it was no shoo-in, which just made him even prouder of his friend for making the cut. "Well, they're lucky to have you… as long as they also have good insurance. Does their policy cover 'Random Acts of Mello'?"

"Well, if I'm surrounded by fewer morons, I'll be less inclined to destroy things, won't I?" Mello asked flippantly. Matt wasn't so sure about that, but he didn't feel like arguing when his friend was in such a good mood. "Anyway, my mom already told my dad, and they're planning to take me out for a celebratory dinner tonight. You're invited too, of course."

"Sweet, I'm all for free noms!"

"That's what I figured," Mello said wryly. "So, we'll be by to pick you up around six, okay?"

"Perfect," Matt agreed, then thought of something. "Um… Will Sy be there, too?"

There was a slight pause, then Mello asked, "Why would he be?"

Matt blinked, perplexed the sincere confusion in the blond's voice. "Because he's like… your boyfriend or date-person or whatever," he explained. For a genius, Mello really could be dense at times.

"So?" Mello asked. "Matt, I've been on one date with the guy, and hung out with him a little at school. This is a big deal. Only people who have put up with me for longer than is probably rational are invited."

Once again, Matt decided that not arguing was the best course here. Besides, if he was completely honest with himself, he was a little bit… relieved… by Mello's reaction.

"Okay," he said. "Hell, it's your party."

"Damn straight," Mello said, sounding pleased. "By the way, have you heard back from any more of your schools, yet?"

Matt grimaced. "Uh, yeah… Got another rejection letter yesterday."

"Fuck, another one?" Mello asked, his voice incredulous. "Shit, I'm sorry, Matty… What the fuck is wrong with those schools? I mean, you're kind of brilliant, even if you are a total dumbass."

"Thanks, Mels," Matt said drily. Only Mello could be so eloquent. "But really, it's okay. I didn't really want to go to that one, anyway."

"Still, it's the fucking _principle_ of it, you know?" Mello said indignantly. "I mean, you're probably smarter than half of their staff. How the holy hell could they reject _you_?"

Matt smiled at the vote of confidence from his best friend. "Awww, you're gonna make me blush," he gushed. "But I guess not all schools can be manned by geniuses, right?"

"Yeah, I guess…" Mello said sulkily, no trace of his prior elation in his voice. Fuck. Matt had broken a happy Mello—that was like killing a unicorn. He felt guilt settle over him like a cloak, and switched immediately to damage control mode.

"Don't worry, Mello," Matt said, trying to reassure him. "Thanks to your incessant nagging, I sent out applications to tons of schools—I'll get into one of them. You know I will. But tonight is _your_ night to celebrate. Because you are awesome."

There were a few seconds of silence. "Yeah," Mello said, sounding proud and excited once more. "I am pretty awesome, aren't I? And sooner or later, someone will figure out that my awesomeness has rubbed off on you, too."

"And if not, I'll just hack their computer systems and accept myself," Matt added.

"…The scary thing is, I think you may actually be able to do that."

"Hm, it's possible," Matt said vaguely, grinning. "Anyway, see you at six?"

"Yeah, see you then. Later."

"Later."

The call disconnected, and Matt stared at the phone for a long moment. This was definitely going to blow up in his face eventually.

But not yet, gods willing.

Shaking his head, Matt grabbed his PSP to kill time until dinner.

* * *

The Keehls ended up taking them to the Cheesecake Factory, Mello's favorite restaurant (because where else can one get a gigantic slice of Godiva chocolate cheesecake?), and Matt had enjoyed watching Mello preen over his victory while his parents glowed with pride. He had recounted the myriad academic achievements that had doubtlessly led to his inevitable acceptance with all the arrogant glee that they had come to expect from him, and Matt managed to only get hit twice for his teasing commentary. The night had ended with cheesecake, of course, and an additional surprise from Mr. and Mrs. Keehl: a keychain, to hold the keys to the brand new car that they would pick out this weekend to take Mello to and from his new dorm in the coming year. Even Mello, whose overly-healthy sense of self-importance normally led him to believe that he was entitled to everything he wanted, was blown away by the gift, his eyes wide and his voice choked as he took the offering from his father and hugged his parents in thanks.

All in all, it was a beautiful evening… and as the creators of the Cheesecake Factory had apparently never heard the words "portion control" before, it left Matt with a pile of delicious leftovers that had him bypassing the mystery meat line in the school cafeteria the next day. Not for the first time, Matt found himself thinking that anyone who said there were no perks to befriending Mello Keehl had obviously never been fed by his parents.

"'Sup, Near?" he asked as he popped open the plastic container, revealing half of a massive sandwich, just waiting for him. When he picked it up, his hands barely fit around it. Beautiful.

"Not much, Matt," Near responded, eyeing the redhead's lunch as he popped a puzzle piece into place. "You had dinner with the Keehls?"

Matt paused, his prize halfway to his mouth, and frowned. "Yeah, how'd you know?" he asked, curious.

"You do not normally eat out at restaurants," Near stated. "And you do not socialize with anyone other than Mello and myself. Therefore, the logical explanation is that Mello's family invited you to dinner with them."

"See, my social life sounds really pathetic when you phrase it like that, Near," Matt complained, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Near tilted his head, reaching up to twirl a lock of hair between his fingers. "Is that not an accurate assessment?" he asked.

"Touché," Matt said around a mouthful of food. He swallowed. "But seriously, that was some impressive Sherlock Holmes shit. Deductive reasoning for the win."

"Indeed," Near agreed, smiling just slightly. "Or should I say, 'Elementary'?"

Matt snorted, startled into laughter. "Shit, Near, that was actually pretty good."

"Thank you," he said, turning back to his puzzle. "And I appreciate your comparison to Sherlock Holmes. After all, I am planning to become a detective… though not of the cocaine-addicted variety, of course."

"No kidding?" Matt gave Near a surprised look. "That's Mello's plan, too… right down to the cocaine-free part. Well, at least I hope so."

"Yes, I imagine it is," Near said absently. "After all, he was recently accepted into Wammy University, correct?"

"Yep!" Matt said proudly. He wasn't surprised that Near knew; last he'd heard, Mello had been all but shouting it from the rooftops and passing out flyers. "Best school in the country for genius detectives-in-training. He's gonna rock it." Possibly literally, if they let him near any sort of chemistry lab.

Near nodded. "Indeed. It will be… interesting… to see him on campus."

For a moment, Matt did not comprehend what Near meant. Then, suddenly, it clicked into place. "Wait… You got into Wammy's, too?"

"Of course," Near said, looking pleased. "I am top student in our class, after all."

"Yeah, I suppose you are." Matt chuckled sheepishly, grinning. "Well, congrats, man!"

"Thank you, Matt."

They settled into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Near playing with his puzzle, Matt happily munching away at his sandwich, pausing only occasionally to remind Near to take a few bites of his own lunch—because seriously, what was it with geniuses and their inability to feed themselves properly? Matt wondered how either of them would survive at Wammy's.

Then he wondered how Mello would react to the news of Near getting into his dream school… and winced.

Fuck. This would not end well. As in, inanimate objects being thrown, lives being threatened, and a SWAT team being called in while news anchors provided live coverage. Matt swallowed a mouthful of food, eyeing Near thoughtfully. He hated to ask… but really, the alternative would not be a pretty picture.

"Hey, Near, can you do me a huge favor?"

"I suppose," Near said. He looked up at Matt, his eyes calculating. "You do not want me to tell anyone that I was accepted to Wammy's yet, do you?"

Damn, the kid was good. Matt nodded. "Yeah… I mean, I know it's a huge deal, and I'm really proud of you for getting in… but Mello was so _happy_ yesterday, Near. Have you ever seen him happy? …When someone else isn't in pain?"

"I honestly had not ever considered the possibility that such an event could take place," Near said solemnly, and Matt wondered if he was joking again. No matter.

"Well, it's a beautiful thing," he said insistently. "And I'd really, _really_ like it if he could hold onto that for a little bit. Just a while, until the gloating starts to taper off. Okay?"

Near nodded, popping another puzzle piece into place. "Of course, Matt," he said. "It does not bother me. My family already knows. You already know. Those are the only people that I care about hearing my good news."

Matt blinked at the unexpected sentiment, then grinned widely. Near was full of surprises today. "Aw, Near, that was the sweetest, most human thing I've ever heard you say! Quick, say something else!"

"…According to the Pythagorean Theorem, the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides of a triangle."

"…You ruined it with math."

"Apologies."

"It's okay, dude," Matt said, reaching out to ruffle the younger boy's hair. Like Mello, he looked very annoyed at the gesture; unlike Mello, he allowed Matt to retract his hand with all fingers still attached. "I appreciate the sentiment. And I _really_ appreciate you doing this for me."

Near just nodded in acknowledgement, then settled that calculating gaze on Matt again. "And have you heard back from any schools yet, Matt?"

Matt felt the queasy feeling in his stomach return, and his face felt hot, but he tried his best to ignore it. "Just rejections so far," he said, shrugging.

Near kept looking at him, his unblinking robot-stare making Matt shift nervously in his seat. "I cannot believe that," he said finally, after a long pause.

"Yeah, well, we can't all be geniuses, right?" Matt said nonchalantly, reaching for his sandwich just to give himself something else to focus on.

"No," Near said, his tone stubborn. "I _cannot believe that_, Matt."

Matt looked at Near through orange lenses, saw the question written on his face. No, more than that… saw the _knowledge_ written on his face. He knew.

Damn, this boy was going to make an _excellent_ detective.

Perhaps it was time to come clean. After all, it's not like Near was Mello—he wouldn't throw a fit, or a punch, or a chair. He wouldn't understand, of course, but he would be impartial, like he always was. And Matt didn't even need to tell him everything… just enough to take some of the weight off. Taking a deep breath, Matt prepared to confess his sins…

…And then the bell rang, interrupting them. Near continued to stare expectantly at him, but the spell was broken. Whatever momentary lapse of judgment Matt had been about to act upon was over.

"Shit, I didn't get to finish," Matt lamented, shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth at a record speed. "Later, Near—congrats again!"

He pretended not to notice the look of disappointment on Near's face as he hurried his way out of the cafeteria, disappearing into the safety of the crowded hallways where no one gave a shit about his secrets.

* * *

There was an envelope waiting for him when he got home.

Matt stared at it, sitting innocuously on the kitchen table along with a scribbled note from his father wishing him good luck and asking him to text him with the results. Fuck, the guy could barely stay sober outside of work hours, but he still had the presence of mind to check the mail that morning? That just figured.

Sighing, Matt opened the fridge and rummaged through it for a can of Coke, then grabbed the letter and retreated into the safety of his bedroom. Cracking open the blessed elixir of caffeine and sugar, he booted up his computer, ready to escape the world for a little while. It had, after all, been a long-ass day.

Almost immediately after he signed on, though, he heard the telltale "blip!" of an instant message coming through. Frowning, he clicked on his email account… and shook his head, his lips quirking into a little half-smile. Of course, it was Mello.

_"Hey, did you hear? I got into Wammy's!"_

Matt wasn't sure whether to be pleased that Mello was still talking to Mail despite his new relationship, or concerned that the blond was this excited to talk to a "stranger" on the Internet. His fingers found the keyboard and began tapping away. _"Fuck, is there anyone who _didn't_ hear? I think I passed some billboards announcing it on the way home. And there's a story on the news about how the sign-language-using gorillas at the zoo were discussing it. Very interesting stuff. Kind of a fluff piece, though."_

_"Hilarious."_

_ "Gorillas generally are, yes. Congratulations, by the way."_

_ "Thanks, Stalker."_

_ "Hey, you're the one who was waiting for me to come online,"_ Matt pointed out. _"Did you miss me? I thought you were still going hot and heavy with that other guy, but if there's room for one more…"_

_ "Don't be a perv,"_ Mello wrote back. _"I just thought you might like to know that Wammy's has recognized how awesome I am, too. Seems like you're a trendsetter, huh?"_

_ "Just wait until I launch the fanclub."_

_ "Make sure that the club T-shirts are high quality. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."_

_ "Well, I plan on making plenty of money for that sort of thing by auctioning off your belongings," _Matt wrote, grinning evilly_. "A chocolate bar with a bite taken out of it could probably fetch enough to give me a decent budget…"_

_ "…Okay, this is starting to get seriously creepy."_

Matt laughed. _"Starting? Dude, it's _been_ seriously creepy," _he wrote._ "But hey, maybe your boyfriend would like an official Mello Fanclub shirt, yeah? I'll even include a free button if he calls in the next fifteen minutes."_

There was a brief pause, and Matt could tell that Mello was flustered—probably trying to find a way to get back in control of this horribly derailed conversation. He smirked. He really did enjoy messing with his friend like this… even if it did probably make him a terrible person. And even if he was starting to worry that he was developing an alternate personality named "Mail." Perhaps it was time to "borrow" a few of Mello's psych texts…

_"He's not my boyfriend," _Mello wrote back finally. Matt rolled his eyes—he'd heard that line a few times already, as Matt and as Mail. Honestly, he didn't know why the blond was so adamant about the semantics of it… but if it gave him more fodder for teasing his best friend, he wasn't about to question it.

_ "Fine, but 'guy you've been on a date or two with and make out with in the hallways' just doesn't roll off the tongue as easily," _he wrote. And then, because he was curious and Mello hadn't told him much about his date beyond the fact that it had happened, he added_ "How has the dating been going, by the way?"_

_ "It's going okay," _Mello responded. Matt raised an eyebrow at the computer screen.

_ "Just okay?" _

_ "Don't get your hopes up, Creeper," _Mello wrote back quickly._ "I'm still getting the hang of this stuff, that's all."_

_ "Well, you've definitely picked a good one to get the hang of it with. Your not-boyfriend is pretty sexy. What's it like getting your hands on that?" _asked Mail, the alternate personality, and definitely not Matt.

But hell, even Matt had to admit that Sy was attractive, in that Springsteenian, blue-jeans-and-leather-and-car-engines sort of way. It was a very specific way, but it worked for him. And Matt wasn't the only one to have noticed, either—he had done a little bit of research (read: asked Linda, the biggest gossip he knew) and learned that when Sy had officially "come out" last year, there had been more than one heart-broken girl wandering the hallways of WHS for weeks to come. Surprisingly, that had been the extent of the drama that had come with that announcement, as Sy's fairly extensive group of friends had stood firmly by him and made it very clear that anyone who had a problem with him would have a whole new set of problems to deal with.

The other research Matt had done, using considerably more advanced and less legal means, had revealed no criminal record, but four detentions and one speeding ticket. Oh, and he had failed social studies one semester back in middle school. His grades otherwise were average at best, but they were balanced out by a reputation for having a way with cars that had landed him a part-time job at a garage when he was barely fifteen. Matt still wasn't one hundred percent sure he trusted the guy—he seemed a bit too good to be true, which had Matt on his guard—but overall, he seemed like a really good person, with a great personality, a decent head on his shoulders, and an ass made for denim.

Which was why Matt was very confused when Mello responded with a simple _"It's okay."_

Matt's brow furrowed, and he typed back rapidly. _"Okay, you seriously have to give me more information than that. I'm living vicariously through this guy, you know. I need juicy details, not just vague outlines."_

_ "Yeah right, like I'd wittingly give you spank-bank material."_

_ "C'mon, man,"_ Mail wheedled. _"I'm a semi-anonymous, faceless stranger on the Internet who idolizes you and won't judge you or hold anything against you. If you can't tell me, who can you tell?"_

A part of Matt wished that Mello would realize at that point that he _did_ have someone else he could tell, that he didn't need to resort to creepy secret admirers for comfort and validation… but alas, the anonymity of the Internet gave him a strange power as Mail that Matt simply did not possess. After a short pause, the response came through:_ "Can you keep a secret, Mail?"_

Matt could have laughed out loud at that, his heart sinking just a little bit. Oh, if only he knew…

"_Mello, you still don't know who the hell I am," _the redhead responded instead._ "I think we can both agree that I can keep a secret."_

"_Good point. But _will_ you?"_

"_Fuck yes, man. Why the hell would I tell anyone, anyway? I'd have to out myself to both you and the school to do it, and I'm definitely not there yet. In no small part because I'm pretty sure you'd kill me, and I like living. So come on, spill."_

"…_Fine."_ There was a pause as Mello typed_. "You're right, Sy is hot, and he's really into me—and why the hell wouldn't he be, right? He's one lucky bastard. And it's been really great having someone to go out on dates with, and someone to make out with, and someone to tell me when I'm looking particularly sexy…"_

Matt sighed, slouching back in his chair with a twinge of disappointment. This wasn't any big news to him. Maybe he should have felt happy that, no, Mello wasn't hiding anything from him, that there just wasn't anything particularly interesting to tell… but still, he couldn't help the tide of annoyance that rose up within him at those words. He wasn't sure why, but the whole situation had him way too agitated, too suspicious. Way more than could be considered normal, he was sure… at least, normal for Matt. For Mail, though, wouldn't it make sense to be irritated at his crush's amazing not-boyfriend?

That thought gave Matt pause… but luckily, Mello wasn't finished typing, and his next post saved him from any dangerous introspection.

"_But honestly? I guess I'm just not really feeling it with him. He's nice, he's just not my type or something, and I doubt we'll last too long. But I don't want to graduate high school without ever having dated someone, and since apparently the only other gay guy at our school is a closet-case Internet stalker, this is what I'm stuck working with."_

Matt stared at the words on the screen. Eventually, his brain translated them into something that made sense to him: Mello was doing it for the EXP. He didn't actually want Sy, he just wanted _practice_. Well, that was a game-changer. "Holy shit," he muttered, feeling his heart flip a little inside his chest. For some reason, he found his hands trembling just slightly as he placed them back on the keyboard, fingers moving quickly despite the shaking.

"_So, what, you're just using him?"_

"_I thought you said you wouldn't judge." _Matt could practically feel the acid dripping off of those words, and he winced.

"_No, not judging, just… I dunno, surprised," _he wrote back._ "You two have seemed pretty cozy together at school. In the hallways, in the library…"_

"_Yeah, well, you can't learn everything by stalking," _Mello typed._ "I imagine it doesn't give you a very complete picture."_

"_Yeah, I guess not…"_

But then, shouldn't being his best friend have given him a little bit more insight? Was Mello really hiding that much from him? Or, hell, was Matt really just that oblivious?

It was definitely something to consider.

Suddenly, Matt—or was it Mail?—found himself wondering another, very important question. _"What is your 'type'?"_ he typed, not really thinking about it.

"_What?"_

"_You mentioned before that Sy isn't your type,"_ Mail continued. _"Well, what is?"_

There was a long pause, and then, _"Mysterious and annoying, obviously."_

"_Really?"_

"_Dream on, asshat."_

"_Oh, I will. Every night. All alone in my bed…"_

"_God, you are such a freakshow…" _

"_Yeah, but you know you love it."_

"_Whatever. I should get going, anyway—I've been slacking off ever since I found out about Wammy's, but they may yet renege on my acceptance if I flunk out in the last semester."_

Matt laughed_. "I find it very hard to believe that you've been 'slacking off,' he typed. "But yeah, I should go, too. Congrats again."_

"_Thanks. Later!"_

Mello signed off, and Matt heaved a deep sigh, spinning idly in his computer chair for a moment or two. Eventually, his eyes were drawn to the letter still sitting on his desk where he had all but forgotten about it. Well, he supposed he should get it over with.

Reaching out, Matt tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside.

"_Dear Mr. Jeevas,_

"_Congratulations! On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to the MIT Class of—"_

Matt crumpled the letter, not letting himself read it any further, and tossed it into the trash bin by his desk. It didn't matter. He would be fine without going to college—he already knew more about computers than most people with a four-year degree could even begin to comprehend. He had a talent for it; always had. He knew that he could get a decent job in that field, or start freelancing if there wasn't anyone in the area willing to give him steady work. He had plenty of options.

But still…

He wouldn't begrudge Mello his college experience, his acceptance into his dream school, the same way he wouldn't begrudge him his relationship with Sy. But it felt really, really shitty being the one left behind. Especially since he knew how well he could have done in college. Hell, it had been years since compulsory education had challenged him at all, and that was with multiple advanced placement classes (not as many as Mello or Near had, to be sure, but enough to be impressive). It would have been nice to see what higher learning could offer him.

But he couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk leaving his father alone in that house, with no one to watch out for him on the bad days.

Taking out his phone, Matt fired off a quick text to his father letting him know that it had just been another rejection letter. A few minutes later he got a response, all condolences and don't-give-ups. The next letter would have better news for him, for sure.

Matt just shook his head and loaded up a video game, ready to detach from reality for a while.

**End Chapter Twelve**

**Author's End Note: **Poor Matty. Why I do this to you? Hope this makes sense, I'm setting up some pretty big shit for Matt here… I feel like this is too much exposition, but fuck it, I just really wanted to get this chapter out there. Hope you guys liked it. Later!


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